A House Divided
by CardinalPerch
Summary: When Prentiss' husband - a London police detective - stumbles upon a series of murders similar to an old BAU case, she reunites with her old FBI colleagues to help him solve it before the stress irreparably strains her marriage. A (probably premature) sequel to "Into the East". It is not, however, necessary to read that story to understand this one. T for some language, violence.
1. A Late Night Call

_Author's Note: (No subsequent notes will be even close to this long.) As indicated in the summary, this is a sequel to my previous story _"Into the East" _but it is not necessary to read that entire story to understand this one. If you did read it, skip the rest of this paragraph. If not, here is all you need to know: That story follows Criminal Minds cannon up through Prentiss taking the job as the head of INTERPOL's London Office and Blake filling the position vacated by Prentiss at the BAU. In the story, Prentiss goes to Cairo to help evacuate her mother when the U.S. Embassy to Egypt comes under attack. She gets help from a Rome-based INTERPOL agent named Victor Polizzi who is of mixed Italian and Egyptian ancestry. After the mission to the Embassy (which ends successfully, though Prentiss sustains a gunshot wound to her hip), Prentiss offers Polizzi a position as an intelligence analyst in her London Office. In the Epilogue, it is revealed that Polizzi accepted the position, but shortly thereafter, he and Prentiss found that they were mutually attracted to one another. He quits INTERPOL to take a job at Scotland Yard so he and Prentiss can date. By the end of the story, Prentiss and Polizzi are engaged, ten months after they meet._

_Essentially, the timeline plays out as follows: _"Into the East" _takes place in early 2014, with Prentiss and Polizzi engaged by Winter 2014 and married in late Spring 2015 (Prentiss does not change her last name). This story takes place in London around late Fall/early Winter 2016. It follows a more traditional CM serial killer case format with primary focus on Prentiss and Polizzi, substantial appearances by Hotch, Rossi, and Morgan and some pinch-hitting from the rest of the BAU team. For anybody who read _"Into the East" _I anticipate this story will be of similar length, but with more and shorter chapters. I know the ink is hardly dry on that story, so to speak, but I got this one buzzing in my head, and I'm impatient. _

_Okay, I'll shut up now. I hope you enjoy!_

"I still say it doesn't count, Emily," Victor protested.

He and Emily exited the elevator on the twelfth floor of the loft building where the couple now shared the flat that Emily purchased for herself when she moved to London four and a half years prior. His royal blue Italian National Football Team sweatshirt was splotched in a few places by the handful of rain droplets that had fallen on them on the way home. Because the weather was supposed to be clear that night and the pub was just around the corner, they had neglected to grab their umbrellas – always a mistake when living in London, but not a major one this night. To Victor, the mild annoyance of being lightly rained upon for a couple of blocks paled in comparison to the agony of the bet he just lost over an international football friendly.

"What do you mean it doesn't count?" Emily scoffed at her husband. "It definitely counts. You made the bet. You lost. You get to take it out."

"It was the last minute of stoppage time and Italia was playing its second and third string reserves all night," he argued. "If we had our starters, that game is over by the 70th minute or sooner. I guarantee it."

"Victor, your exact words were, 'If the U.S. wins this match, I will take out Sergio's litter box.' You said nothing about stoppage time or reserves," she countered.

He began good-naturedly muttering curse words under his breath in Italian as he grabbed a glass from the kitchen cabinet and drew some water from the tap.

"I heard that," she chided him.

"Alright, alright," he said, smiling a bit begrudgingly at Emily, who made to grab a glass of her own. "I'll take out the box."

"Just do me a favor and change out of that shirt," he said, indicating Emily's navy blue United States Soccer pullover. "You're just rubbing it in."

"You bought me this shirt for my birthday," she reminded him. "Even though you know I still don't care about sports. I only go along with this soccer business because I love you."

"Okay, first of all," he said, feigning great offense, "how many times to I have to tell you, it's football. _Foot-ball_. Second, I also bought you a first-edition Vonnegut for your birthday, if you recall. Third, if you loved me, you wouldn't make me take out your cat's litter."

"Right, right, football. And yes, I do remember the book and it was sweet," she said, leaning over and lightly pecking his bearded cheek. "And I love you enough to trust that you will be a man of your word and take out the litter box instead of being a poor sport."

"You win," he relented. "Going now."

As Victor left to change the box in the other room, a slender black cat leaped up onto the kitchen counter beside where Emily stood.

"Did you hear that, Sergio?" Emily asked, scratching behind the cat's ears. "_Your _cat. He still doesn't want to claim you."

The cat rubbed appreciatively up against her arm. Emily indulged him for another minute, then set her empty glass in the sink. Momentarily pausing to glance out at the magnificent London skyline from the living room – Emily still hadn't tired of that view – she made her way to the bedroom to change for the night. A few minutes later, Victor returned.

"All done," he announced.

"See, that wasn't so hard. Come to bed."

Just then, a phone rang out from the top of the dresser. Emily covered her eyes and sighed at the familiar sound. At this time of night, it was rarely good news.

"Yours or mine?" she asked.

"Mine," he answered, pulling his phone off of the dresser.

"Polizzi," he answered.

Emily sat down on the bed as she listened to her husband reply to the unheard end of the conversation with the familiar pattern of "Yeah," and "Oh, God," and "I'll be right there."

"I assume this means you will not be coming to bed," Emily asked when Victor finally hung up the phone.

"You would be correct," he replied. "Homicide of a University College student."

"Homicide?" Emily questioned. "Why do they need you? You only handle it if there's was an international element involved."

"I don't know," he replied. "They just said they need me and it didn't really seem like they were inviting argument. I need to go change."

Victor grabbed some clothes from the closet and headed into the bathroom. A few minutes later, he emerged in black slacks and a white-button up shirt.

"Do you think I really need a tie?" he asked Emily.

"For a crime scene at midnight? Probably not," she answered. "Grab that red diamond pattern one just in case."

"The one my sister gave me? I thought you hate that tie," he responded, perplexed.

"I do. That's why I'm telling you to wear it in the dark."

"Very funny," he replied, grabbing the tie in question before leaning over go give Emily a kiss.

"Be careful," she admonished him. The two had reached an unspoken agreement long ago not to fret out loud too much over one another's jobs so as not to drive each other crazy, but both of them worried when the other went out on a call and neither could resist at least a small word of caution.

"I always am," he reminded her. "Hopefully I'll be back in a few hours. Get some sleep."

"I'll try. Goodnight. Love you."

"No, I love you," he retorted, as he strode out the door.

Despite the unwanted interruption, Emily managed to drift off fairly easily. She herself had to be at the office in the morning, and a day in the life of an INTERPOL agent was a lot easier with sleep.

A restful night proved elusive, however, as she was soon jarred out of her sleep by the ringing of her own phone. Without even looking over to see the identity of the caller, she grabbed the phone and pressed against her face.

"Prentiss," she answered reflexively.

"Emily, it's me," her husband answered.

"Victor?" she said, suddenly alert as she clicked on the bedside lamp. "What's the matter, are you alright?"

"Yeah," he confirmed. "I'm fine. But, I, uh, I need you down here."

"At the crime scene? Why?" she pressed, confused.

"Well, the murder is pretty grizzly and it's the second of its type, they think it might be a serial."

"Okay, I still don't see why they brought you into it. What do you need from me?"

"Well, that's where the international bit comes in," he replied. "The m.o. and signature are identical to those of a series of murders on a college campus in the United States in 2007. According to the records we have, you and your team at the BAU worked the case."

"Shit," she muttered under her breath.

"You there, Emily?" Victor asked.

"Text me the address," she said firmly. "I'm on my way."

_Annndddd, we're off! I hope you enjoyed Chapter 1. In Chapter 2, we'll specifically address which case we're talking about (bonus points if you've guessed already), get some of the BAU involved, and get going! Thanks for reading! Comments/suggestions welcome as always!_


	2. Pack Your Bags

_Author's Note: Back with Chapter 2. Kudos to those of you who correctly guessed the old case we're dealing with: the Flagstaff, Arizona campus spree killer from Season 3, Episode 1 (Doubt). There will probably be a few more references to Seasons 3 and maybe 4 peppered into the story, but not too heavily. (And no, I will not be bringing Gideon back. He's an interesting character, but dealing with bringing him back and all of his psychological trauma would deviate too much from the story I want to tell. Sorry if this disappoints!) Also, just a brief reminder, this only follows CM cannon through the first episode of Season 8. I've decided I want Strauss alive and will use her occasionally._

_This chapter is a little bit longer than the last. I hope you enjoy!_

Emily drove to the crime scene as fast as possible. Her thoughts raced through her head almost faster than she could process them. The Campus Killer case was not one she was particularly keen on revisiting. Even for a BAU case, it had been particularly unpleasant. Part of that had to do with the turmoil surrounding the team at the time rather than the case itself. Emily had been at the BAU less than a year at the time and Strauss was blackmailing her in an attempt to get her to help sabotage Hotch. Hotch, who'd had his suspicions about Emily from day one, was cold and distant. Gideon was still reeling from the murder of his friend Sarah.

Considering the circumstances, the case was bound to be a disaster, and it was. The arrest was botched. Hotch was suspended. Emily quit. Gideon went over the edge, disappearing to start his life over. Even though Hotch and Emily came back to the team and eventually established a good relationship, the case still left a bitter taste in Emily's mouth.

She desperately hoped that when she got to the crime scene she would find out that the Metropolitan Police had it wrong. That the victimology was off or that the signature didn't match. If the murders did match the pattern of Nathan Tubbs' kills, Emily had no doubt that she would end up mired knee-deep in the case. It didn't fall into INTERPOL's jurisdiction, but Victor and his colleagues would expect her to help, and she would feel obligated to do so. This would mean essentially working two jobs until the case was solved. It would also mean essentially working a case with her husband, which she was certain was a terrible idea. There was a reason that the FBI, INTERPOL, Scotland Yard, and every other law enforcement agency she knew of had strict policies regarding coworker relationships. Too much focus on the relationship could compromise a case, and too much focus on a case could ruin the relationship.

As soon as Emily reached the address Victor sent her, she parked her car and made straight for huddle of police standing near a taped-off area. Although the rain had stopped, a slight chill still permeated the air. Emily wrapped her black jacket tightly around herself as she tried to find Victor in the group. He found her first.

"Emily, over here," she heard him say, beckoning her from the other side of the police tape. She fought her way through the group of on-looking officers – from the looks of them, largely young rookies paying their dues on the night beat – and made her way to the scene. Victor held up the tape for her as she ducked under and made her way over to the body. There waiting for her was a familiar man in his mid-fifties with strong features, and grey-streaked dark hair. His black police jacket zipped up to his neck, leaving the top of his black tie exposed.

"Emily, you've met Chief Superintendent Perry," Victor reminded her. "Chief Superintendent, you remember my wife."

"Chief Prentiss," Perry said, extending his hand.

"Just Prentiss, or Emily," Emily insisted. She hated being called Chief Prentiss. It reminded her too much of Strauss. She had to put up with it at INTERPOL. That was more than enough.

"I'm sorry to call you out like this, particularly at such a late hour," Perry continued. "But, given the circumstances, it would be tremendously helpful if you could take a look."

"Of course," Emily obliged. "What do you have here?"

"Her name was Rachel Watson," Perry answered grimly, staring down at the body.

Emily knelt down to study Watson. The young woman was slight. Average height. He had long brown hair and an angular, lineless face. She had been robbed of the prime of her life, Emily thought bitterly. Even though she had seen hundreds of bodies throughout her career, she still felt that slight surge of rage in the pit of her stomach when she saw victims so young.

"She was 21," Perry continued. "Brown hair. Stabbed multiple times."

"With the fatal wound to the heart?" Emily asked.

"We'll need an autopsy to confirm, but she was definitely stabbed there," Perry answered.

"And you found her like this?" Emily said, indicating the girl's crossed arms.

"Yes," the superintendent confirmed. "And it was the same three nights ago. Young brunette victim. Arms crossed. Autopsy confirmed she was stabbed in the heart."

Emily stared at the ground, lost in thought.

"Emily, what is it?" Victor pulled her out of her world of analysis.

"Nothing," she replied. "It's just that, two murders isn't necessarily enough to establish it as a connection, especially nine years apart in a large city thousands of miles away."

"So you don't think they're related?" Perry asked.

"I don't know," Emily answered truthfully. The similarities definitely gave her an uneasy feeling, but she couldn't be certain. The one thing she was certain about was that London had a serial killer on the loose, and sending the Metropolitan Police down the wrong path could have deadly consequences. She just wished she had more sufficient evidence to either make or dismiss a link between the cases.

"Wait," she said suddenly, bending down to gently lift up Watson's shirt and examine the body.

"What is it?" Victor asked urgently. But Emily barely heard him. She was too absorbed in her search. The terrible condition of the victim's torso made things difficult, but after a minute she found what she was looking for, and her worst fears were confirmed. Watson had two distinct burn marks on her pale torso.

"They're definitely connected to the Arizona College killings," Emily concluded abruptly.

"You're sure?" Victor pressed.

"Positive," Emily answered. "He used a taser on her. It's how Tubbs subdued his victims. In the States I might even chalk that up to coincidence, but tasers are illegal here and extremely rare. It's definitely part of a signature, he's imitating Tubbs."

"Nathan Tubbs killed four women. All brunettes in Flagstaff, Arizona, United States in 2007," Victor read aloud from a record on his iPad.

"No, that's not right," Emily interrupted abruptly. "He killed three women."

"I'm looking at old news clippings that say four victims," Victor answered, confused.

"The fourth victim was the victim of a copycat," Emily explained. "There was a young student on the campus who was deeply troubled, mentally ill, suicidal. She became obsessed with the killer. She wanted to be killed by him. After we apprehended Tubbs, she committed the fourth murder to get him released."

Victor shot her a wide-eyed look.

"You're joking." Perry insisted.

"No, unfortunately I'm not," Emily said, rising from her crouching position. "She was a very sick girl who didn't get any help."

"Well, where is she?" Perry asked. "Is it at all possible that she was released and ended up in the U.K.?"

"No, it wasn't her," Emily dismissed.

"How can you be sure?" Victor asked.

"Because," Emily sighed, recalling an image she'd rather forget. An image of a frail, troubled girl collapsing to the ground, clutching a stainless steel blade bathed in crimson. "She committed suicide when she was standing about as far away from me as you are now."

The two men fell silent.

"I need to go back through the notes from that case," Emily said, moving away from the body and back towards the perimeter of the scene. "I might get some input from my old team in D.C. I'll get you a profile as soon as I can."

"Thank you, Prentiss," Perry answered, giving her another brief handshake. "I appreciate all the help we can get in stopping this man."

As Emily left the scene and headed back to her car, Victor jogged to catch up with her.

"Emily!" he shouted. "Wait up."

"What is it?" she asked.

"I'm sorry," he said, staring at her guiltily.

"About what?" she asked, confused.

"That case," he replied. "It wasn't just another case for you was it? I didn't know about the suicide. I didn't mean to dig that up."

"It's not the worst case I've ever dealt with," Emily said truthfully. "But it's never easy to watch somebody kill themselves. And there was a lot of tension going on in the team. So yes, it was rough. But it's fine."

"Go home and get some sleep," he insisted. "You're tired, and you can't talk to the BAU at this hour. Go to bed, then go to work. We can talk tonight."

"Alright," she agreed. "I'll see you at home later."

"I love you," he said.

"I love you too," she answered before they exchanged a brief kiss. "But I still hate that tie."

Emily managed to get in a few more hours of sleep, but most of it was fitful. She was already trying to string together a profile in her mind. She knew in her gut and in her mind that the killings of the University College students and the killings in Flagstaff had to be connected somehow, but she had no idea where to begin. She did know that the longer things took, the more bodies would pile up.

That morning at the INTERPOL office, Emily was particularly thankful for her compartmentalization skills. The Tubbs case and the University College killings nagged at her in the back of her mind, but she was able to set it aside and get quite a bit accomplished. She took her lunch break hunched over her desk, head resting on her hand reviewing the autopsies and other reports Victor had forwarded to her from Scotland Yard. The reports might have come from Arizona years ago. Deep stab wound to the heart, followed by total overkill before the remorse set in and the arms were folded. Emily still couldn't believe this scenario was repeating itself in London of all places. But she did know that the unsub was mature, patient, and had studied the Tubbs case closely. She was almost certain he had been in the States at or near the time of the original killings. The Flagstaff murders weren't a big international story, but they certainly received substantial coverage domestically.

At about three o'clock, she decided it was time to make the call. It was late morning in D.C. Unless they were out on a call, the team should all be at the Quantico building. Grabbing her cell off her desk, she dialed an oft-used number.

"My sweet, wonderful Emily Prentiss, to what do I owe the pleasure?"

"Hey Garcia," Emily answered smiling. Even after all these years, something about hearing Garcia almost always lightened her mood. "I need to call in a favor."

…

As the team filed into the conference room at the BAU, Hotch sought out Garcia.

"Garcia, what's this about?" he inquired. "I haven't received any word about a new case."

"Sir, this call just came in, but I have a distinct feeling that you are going to be interested in this one," she answered, pointing to the telescreen where a familiar face appeared.

"Emily!" JJ remarked happily.

"Hey guys," Emily replied. "How's it going?"

"Always a good day when we see you, Prentiss," Derek answered. "What's happening?"

"Well, as much as I wish I could just chat, I think I need your help," she answered.

"What can we do for you, Prentiss?" Hotch asked immediately.

"Well," Emily said somewhat hesitantly, knowing the subject she was about to broach was not a popular one with her friends, "it's about the Nathan Tubbs case. In Flagstaff."

Seeing the looks of confusion on the faces of Rossi and Blake, Hotch rushed to explain.

"It's a case we worked in 2007. Spree killer on a college campus. I'll explain more later, but it was the case that drove Jason Gideon into retirement."

"Prentiss, you better have a damn good reason for bringing that one up," Derek warned.

"I don't know how to explain it," Prentiss admitted. "But the elements of that case all seemed to have re-surfaced in London in the past week. Two brunette students of University College have been killed. Both stabbed in the heart then continuously stabbed post-mortem. Both left with their arms crossed."

"Prentiss, nine years and an ocean apart, that has to be a coincidence," Derek pointed out.

"They were also both tased," Emily added. "It's not legal to own a taser here. They're extremely rare."

"It does tip the scales of coincidence," Reid pointed out. "The probability of there being no relation at all is extremely low, even if it just turns out to be a copycat killer. There almost has to be some link."

"Is INTERPOL working the case?" Blake asked.

"No, it's Metropolitan Police," Emily answered. "But after Victor realized the link between this case and the case we worked, they've asked me to consult. I just thought I could use any files and insights you all can spare."

"I'll send everything we have right away," Garcia chimed in. "Anything else I can do?"

"Yes," Emily replied. "Cross-reference any records you might have of college employees and students from that time with U.K. Border Security records. I'll get you access through INTERPOL."

"On it," Garcia stated, striding from the room.

"Have you been able to review anything yourself yet?" JJ asked.

"Just the autopsies and basic reports," Emily responded. "There's no hesitation in the stab wounds and the methodology fits Tubbs to a tee, so assuming he's looking to Tubbs for inspiration, he's meticulous and thorough in his studying and execution. I'd say that means he's probably at least in his thirties if not older, and almost certainly was in the U.S. in or around the time of the murders."

"You know guys," Derek hesitated, knowing that what he was about to say would not be popular. "We were never able to prove for sure that Tubbs was the unsub."

"Morgan, are you _still_ on about that?" JJ asked exasperated.

"JJ, it's a fact. We don't _know_."

"Morgan, the profile pointed directly to Tubbs," Emily countered. "He had the rage. The opportunity. The tools. The motive. He had trophies. He slept like a baby even while Gideon was interrogating him over three murders."

"Morgan's right," Hotch said quietly. "We never had definitive proof."

"Hotch, are you kidding me?" Emily asked, astounded. She had always been certain that Tubbs was the killer, and she thought Hotch had too. He had personally staked a great deal on that case.

"You always believed it was Tubbs," she reminded him. "He was the perfect fit."

"Prentiss, I agree that it was almost certainly Tubbs. But the fact is we never found enough direct physical evidence and now somebody with the exact same signature and victimology is killing again in your city. If we were wrong, then we're responsible for that. I want to reopen the case."

"Hotch, I have no authority to invite you in on this case," Emily reminded him. "If it was an INTERPOL case it would be different, but it's out of my control."

"You said London Metropolitan Police invited you in as a consult," Hotch replied. "Do you think you can talk them into letting us help them as well? Just in a purely advisory capacity?"

"Probably," she answered. "These guys don't deal with a lot of serials and it's all over the news. They want a stop to it as soon as possible."

"Alright," Hotch concluded. "Blake, JJ, Reid, I want you to go through everything we have on the Tubbs case and re-examine it. JJ and Reid, try and act as if you've never seen it before. In fact, we should stop calling it the Tubbs case. From now on it's the Flagstaff campus case. I want to treat this as if we don't even know Nathan Tubbs existed."

"Morgan, go home and pack your bags. You too, Dave. I want a fresh pair of eyes with us on this. I'll go have Garcia make the arrangements," Hotch said, leaving the room.

"Pack my bags?" Morgan asked, confused. "Are we going back to Flagstaff?"

"No," Rossi answered with a knowing look. "We're going to London."

_I hope you enjoyed. Reviews/comments/suggestions are appreciated as always._


	3. This One is Personal

_Back with Chapter 3. This one focuses primarily on Emily and Victor, but there's some team at the end. They'll be featured much more prominently in the next chapter. I appreciate all of the feedback. Hope you enjoy!_

It was with a great sense of trepidation that Emily ended the teleconference with the BAU. She had certainly hoped that the team would be willing to assist. In fact, she had expected that they would. What she had not expected was that Hotch would drop everything and drag Morgan and Rossi to another continent to look at a case that was out of their jurisdiction and on which they had not been invited. Emily hoped she could succeed in getting them invited to consult on the case and that Hotch, Rossi, and Morgan would have the sense to keep their involvement minimal. She knew Hotch was accustomed to running investigations his way, but she also knew that the Metropolitan Police neither would nor should tolerate American agents trying to direct their investigation. The last thing she wanted was to end up in the middle of a territorial pissing match between her husband and her BAU family.

Hoping to defuse the situation before it got out of control, she picked up the phone and dialed Victor at Scotland Yard.

"Polizzi," came the answer after two rings. Emily's heart sank a little bit at the sound of his voice. She had never heard him so put-out and dejected.

"Hey, it's me," she said gently. "How are you?"

"Hey. I'm alright," he answered.

Even over the phone she knew he was lying. She knew that he had seen his share of death and violence working intelligence collection missions at INTERPOL, but he had never worked a serial case before. It was an entirely different animal that could eat a person up even after hundreds of cases. Serial cases involve much more exposure to individual victims and contact with the families. The first was always terrible. She knew calling him out on the lie would only upset him, so she let it go, simply resolving to help him get the case solved as soon as possible.

"Have you been able to take a look at anything yet?" he asked her.

"I started working on a preliminary profile over lunch," she replied. "And I got ahold of the BAU. They're more than willing to help. I actually think they might be a little overenthusiastic about it."

"What do you mean?" he replied.

"Well, some of them are going through the old files to prepare a fresh profile," she answered. "Then there's Hotch, Morgan, and Rossi. Do you remember them?"

"Yeah. Your old boss, the tall darker guy, and the rich Italian guy," he said, recalling the guests from their wedding night. Even though he had only met them in person once, Victor felt like he knew them. Emily talked about her old team all the time.

"Yeah, well," she said, biting her bottom lip in preparation for a hostile reaction. "They're coming over here."

A wave of relief swept over her upon hearing Victor's reaction. He was shocked, but almost pleasantly so. Definitely not angry.

"They're coming all the way over here on an off connection to a nine-year-old case?"

"Yeah," she sighed, trying to explain as well as she could without re-hashing years of history. "This one is personal. Especially for Hotch. The arrest went bad. Tubbs died before we could charge him with the crime. Hotch was suspended and the aftermath of the suspension caused his marriage to unravel."

"And his wife died after they got divorced, right?" Victor remembered.

"Yeah," she confirmed.

"Well, I can see why he wants to help see this resolved then," he replied. "But I can't let them be directly involved in the case."

"I know that," Emily assured him. "This is Metro's investigation. But would it be possible to invite them in on a consultative basis like you did me? I think they can help."

"I'll take all the help I can get," Victor answered. Emily sensed his desperation to solve the case. "As long as they know the parameters. They don't have any authority here. Metropolitan directs the investigation and the manpower, they consult with the profile."

"They will," Emily promised. "In fact, if you want I can just give them some workspace here at INTERPOL. That way we're all out of your hair."

"If that's alright with you, that would probably be best," he said. "It won't be a problem to invite them for a consult if we can ensure a separate workspace. Go ahead and bring them in."

Relieved that one crisis was at least averted, Emily turned her attention to her Victor's mental state.

"Have you slept at all today?" she asked.

"Did you sleep when you worked the case in Flagstaff?" he responded.

"No," she confessed. "But given the way things played out, maybe it would have been smarter if we had."

"I'll be home tonight," he assured her.

"Promise?" she pressed.

"Promise," he answered. "I can't promise I won't work late, but I will come home."

"Okay," she said, satisfied. "I'll see you tonight."

...

Feeling slightly better after the call, Emily plowed through the rest of her day, spending most of it reviewing and revising plans to have her agents infiltrate a human trafficking they believed was based on the Continent but transported hundreds of teenagers through the U.K. By the time the plans were revised to her satisfaction, it was nearly six o'clock. She flirted with the idea of going home, but dismissed it. She was sure Victor would not be home until late and she wanted to get more work done on the profile.

Deciding to take a short break first, she went into the changing room just off from her office and exchanged her navy blue business dress for a more comfortable pair of loose black slacks and an old thick gray turtleneck sweater she kept around for nights like this when she worked late. Ducking out of the INTERPOL office briefly to grab dinner from a café tucked around the corner, she returned just after 6:30 with a sandwich and water bottle in hand, prepared to return to battle with the files on the University College killings.

Upon resettling at her desk, Emily saw a message from Garcia on her phone.

"No match between UK border crossing records and campus personnel in Flagstaff. Sorry, E."

Of course not, Emily thought bitterly. That would make things easy.

Without a lead from Garcia to work with, Emily knew she needed to focus as much as possible on building a profile separate from that of Tubbs. She decided to concentrate on the differences between the killings rather than the similarities. There were definitely distinctions to be made between the London and Flagstaff murders. First, Emily wasn't convinced that the London murders were the work of a spree killer like Tubbs. Tubbs had snapped and murdered three girls in four days and attempted to kill another. In London they had found two bodies in three days. It was certainly a short cooling between the two killings, but not enough to definitively establish a spree pattern. That, unfortunately, would require another body.

Emily also noticed another difference. In Flagstaff, the team had quickly been able to conclude that the killer was a member of the campus community, probably an authority figure. They determined this because the tight-knit nature of the small residential campus and the fact that the murders occurred in only semi-secluded areas rendered it highly unlikely that the killer was an outsider. Here, the situation was different. University College did have a campus, but unlike the quiet suburban college in Flagstaff, it was located in the middle of a one of the world's largest cities with thousands of students commuting each day. It would not be difficult to enter and leave the area without being noticed. It also appeared that the two murders had occurred at odd hours of the morning and in narrow areas behind buildings, where the perpetrator would easily be able to sneak up unnoticed in the dark.

Rather than help, the differences Emily noticed made building a profile that much harder. They broadened the field of possibilities. The killer might either be a rampaging spree killer or a patient serial killer. A trusted community member or an unknown outsider.

Furiously picking at her nails. Emily grew increasingly frustrated by her lack of progress. She pressed on, trying to at least make some forward progress before she went home. After wrestling some more with the files, she was at least able to make some preliminary conclusions. Due to the level of aggressiveness towards the women, the killer was almost certainly male. The lack of sexual assault all but eliminated the possibility of a sexual predator. The lack of hesitation in the stab wounds indicated that the killer was not tentative about his kills. This suggested that he was older. Even the most depraved of younger killers usually showed some hesitation in their early kills. Yet the fact that he stabbed clean through the breastbone on the first go indicated that he was strong, so probably not that old. Emily deduced he had to be somewhere between his thirties and his fifties. The near perfect symmetry between his kills and those of Tubbs indicated that he was patient. He had meticulously studied the old case in order to imitate it. Finally, the fact that the unsub knew which areas of the campus were secluded enough for him to loiter in and wait for his victims without being discovered meant that he either lived or worked there or nearby. He killed within his comfort zone.

It was, admittedly, not much to go on, but it was a start. Emily didn't think she could properly concentrate much longer anyway. Her right hip was throbbing with increasing intensity, a nagging reminder of the bullet that shattered it two years prior. This tended to happen when winter weather set in, and it was exacerbated if Emily sat or stood in the same position for too long. A quick glance at her desk clock revealed it was 9:30.

She cursed softly under her breath. She hadn't realized it was that late. Logging into her computer, she quickly wrote-up a memo of her preliminary conclusions on the profile and checked her e-mail one last time. She saw a message from Garcia. Hotch, Rossi, and Morgan had booked tickets on a commercial flight that would arrive at Heathrow Airport in the morning. They would rent a car, check into a hotel, and call Emily once they settled in. Making a mental note to expect a call tomorrow afternoon, Emily hastily stuffed all of the files in her messenger bag and headed home.

When she reached the flat, Emily saw light emanating from under the crack of the door. Victor had made good on his promise to come home. Berating herself for not coming home earlier or at least calling, Emily made her way inside. She found Victor, with his tie removed but otherwise still in work clothes, nursing a glass of wine and absentmindedly stroking Sergio.

"Caught you. I knew you liked that cat," Emily remarked.

"You saw nothing," Victor said, raising his arm away from the cat and offering a weak half-smile.

"I'm sorry I'm so late," she apologized. "I lost track of time. You could have called me."

"I haven't been home that long myself," he claimed. Emily believed him. He looked absolutely exhausted. "And besides, I assume you were there so late because you were working on the profile."

"Yeah," she sighed. "I have a preliminary workup that I forwarded to you, but I don't think it's much to go on yet. Hopefully I'll be able to add more details after your guys get farther in to the investigation and I can bounce some ideas off of my old teammates once they get here. They should be settled in by tomorrow afternoon."

Victor nodded, apparently satisfied.

"You know," he added. "You don't have to do this Emily. It's not your job."

"Yes, I do," she insisted firmly.

She knew that the BAU men would feel the same way, albeit for different reasons. Emily had to do it for Victor. In the nearly three years she'd known him, he had never looked as lost as he did today. Because the case was connected to one she had worked, she would feel partially responsible for his pain until it was solved. Hotch had to do it for Hailey, to gain some closure from a case that started a painful chain reaction that ended his marriage. Morgan had to do it because he had never been certain that Tubbs was the killer, and he had to make sure the case that had finally broken one of his greatest mentors in Jason Gideon wasn't in vain. Rossi had to do it because his BAU family was suffering. Of David Rossi's many qualities, perhaps the greatest was that he always had his family member's backs, even in the rare cases where the rest of the team didn't.

"Throw your bag off and sit down, Emily," Victor insisted, pulling out a breakfast stool from beside the counter. "You're limping a little bit. Your hip is hurting you again. Probably from sitting around too long working on the profile," he added astutely.

"It's just the weather," she said dismissively, nonetheless accepting the invitation to sit. Even after a year and a half of marriage, she still marveled a bit over how sweet he was to her.

"I'm fine," she continued, refusing to let him deflect the conversation towards her. "How are _you_ holding up?"

"I had to talk to the girls' families today," he sighed. Emily knew the look on his face all too well. It was one she saw often on her own face and those of her BAU colleagues. The disgust with the senselessness of it all. "Rachel Watson was from a close-knit family outside of Bristol. She wanted to be a doctor. The other girl's name was Sarah Wellesley. She was from West London. Her parents' only child. It just makes me sick, Emily."

She could only nod silently in agreement.

"How many of those have you had," Emily asked him, pointing at his wine glass.

"Just this one," he said truthfully. "I just thought I could use one for the night."

"In that case, pour me one too," she replied.

He obliged, uncorking a half-empty bottle of their favorite red from the counter and pouring her a fairly generous portion. The pair sat in mutual silence for a while. On the wood floor below her, Emily could feel Sergio winding his way back and forth between her feet. Victor finally broke the silence.

"Emily, I have to ask you a question," he said, somewhat hesitantly.

"Of course, anything," she said, setting her glass back on the counter.

"I know that you know these type of cases as well as almost anybody in the world," he stared at her intently. "Am I going to find another body before I catch this man?"

It was a question she wasn't keen on answering. She broke eye contact, suddenly becoming very interested in the surface of the counter.

"I can't answer that for sure," she said evasively. "It depends on a number of factors…"

"Emily," he interrupted her, grabbing at her wrist gently but firmly to draw her gaze back to his. "Please just tell me the truth."

She hesitated, licking at her bottom lip a moment before nodding slowly. He deserved to know the truth. Even if she didn't tell him, he would find out the hard way.

"Most likely," she admitted. Even this was a bit sugar-coated. Given the paucity of information and the huge population of the area, Emily was practically certain another body would turn up. In fact, given the odds, finding _only _one more body would be a blessing.

"In fact, you need be prepared for the possibility of more than one," she added quietly.

"I can't accept that," he said, shaking his head vigorously. "How did you do this day in and day out for six years, Emily? Knowing that every time you took a case more people would probably die before you solved it?"

"By remembering what you need to remember right now," she answered. "That the only thing you can do to stop it is to solve the case. That's all you can focus on."

He nodded grimly. He wasn't satisfied with the answer, but he also knew it was the right one.

"And you can solve the case faster when you put your best foot forward," she added. "Which means getting some sleep. You've been awake for 24 hours. You look terrible. I know you have guys working this case around the clock and I also know those guys are competent because you wouldn't tolerate anybody who wasn't. Go to bed, Victor."

"You're right," he agreed hesitantly. "I think I will."

He quickly rinsed both of their glasses and returned them to the rack above the counter before heading toward the bedroom. Emily pulled her messenger bag off of the floor and retrieved her laptop. She wanted to take one more opportunity to review the profile before she called it a night. She barely set the laptop on the counter before she heard Victor's voice from the bedroom down the hall.

"Put it away, Emily," he insisted. "I'm not the only one who needs some sleep around here."

Emily couldn't manage to suppress a slightly amused grin. He might never have been a profiler, but damn if he didn't have her pretty well figured out.

…

When Emily awoke the following morning, Victor was gone. Emily concluded that he must have snuck out early to get a head start at the office. A note left on the counter confirmed her suspicion:

"Em,

Left early to head to the office. I hope I didn't wake you. I left you the last of the orange juice in the fridge. If you don't claim it, I'm considering it fair game tomorrow morning. Have a good day. I'll call you at lunch.

Love,

Vic"

Emily hung her grey suit jacket over the back of one of the stools and helped herself to the rest of the orange juice and some toast. While she wished Victor had afforded himself the opportunity to sleep a bit longer, she was satisfied that he at least got some rest. Emily wasn't a particularly sound sleeper. When Victor had a restless night, she usually did too. His sheer exhaustion must have overcome his stress at least enough to allow him a few hours of peace.

After quickly finishing her breakfast, Emily put on her suit jacket and coat and headed to work. She knew she needed to be efficient in the morning, as at least part of her afternoon would be occupied with making sure Hotch, Rossi, and Morgan got settled in and could arrange to meet her. The first two hours of her day went smoothly before she was interrupted by a phone call that came a little sooner than expected.

"Prentiss," she answered dutifully.

"Hey kiddo, it's Dave," she heard Rossi's wonderfully familiar voice reply.

"Rossi, I wasn't expecting you until later," she said, mildly surprised. "Is everything okay?"

"Sort of," he responded. "But we were wondering if you could pick us up from the airport."

"I don't understand. Garcia said you were renting a car."

"Yeah, we did," Rossi replied with a slight air of amusement. "We made it maybe half a mile from the terminal before we had a little accident. Apparently there is a pretty big difference between how well Morgan says he can drive on the left side of the road and how well he actually drives. He and Hotch are sorting everything out with the other drivers and the rental company right now."

Emily let loose a mischievous laugh. Morgan must be pissed. She couldn't help but relish the image in her head of Morgan, with his bruised ego, trying to explain how the mishap was somehow anybody's fault but his. He would blame the other driver, the car, the road signs, the entire United Kingdom while an irritated Hotch sorted out all the paperwork.

"Sit tight, Rossi. I'm on my way."

_That's it for now. The chapter was a little longer than originally intended. I planned on saving that last bit to open the next chapter, but thought it would be nice to end on a lighter bit for a change. I hope you enjoyed! Reviews/comments/suggestions are awesome!_


	4. Devolving

_Hey, all! Back with Chapter 4. This one is a bit shorter than the last and a little bit more lighthearted, at least at the beginning. I wanted to get a few nice team moments in before diving back into the darker crime, profiling, and tension type stuff. I look to be getting a bit busy lately, but Chapter 5 is already underway so I hope to have it up within a few more days. For now, I hope you enjoy Chapter 4. _

After taking some time to fight through traffic, Emily arrived at Heathrow just before mid-day on a cool, crisp Friday morning. Parking her car and heading towards the entrance where she and Rossi arranged to meet, she failed to suppress a gleeful smirk upon seeing a clearly put-out Morgan.

"Emily Prentiss," Derek said, spotting her. "I do not want to hear a peep out of you."

"Hi Morgan," she said sarcastically. "I've missed you, too."

"Alright, Smartass," he said, cracking his patented charming smile. "Come here."

He gave her a tight squeeze that she returned whole-heartedly.

"Hey Morgan, share a bit will you?" Rossi quipped, grinning.

"It's good to see you Rossi," Emily said. Embracing the senior agent, who playfully planted a kiss on each of her cheeks.

"Whoa, whoa, whoa, simmer down, Rossi," Morgan joked. "She's married now."

"What? We're in Europe. I'm allowed to do that," Rossi insisted. "Speaking of," he said, turning to Emily. "How's that man of yours treating you?"

"I think I've got him pretty well trained," she responded.

"That's my girl," Rossi replied proudly.

"How are you Hotch?" Emily asked, sharing an embrace with her former unit chief. She was amused, but not at all surprised, to see he was still insistent on wearing a suit for the trip. Some things never changed.

"Uh, a little jet-lagged," he admitted. "But it's good to see you. Thanks for coming to get us."

"It's no trouble," she insisted. "My car's this way. I've already got the directions to your hotel."

She was glad to see that, even though they had travelled much farther than a case usually took them, they'd still packed lightly. She had sold her car upon moving away from the States and now owned a small silver Volvo, which was still decent-sized by European standards, but much smaller than what her Stateside friends were accustomed to, especially Morgan who drove a large truck when he wasn't piloting a Bureau SUV. Sure enough, the dark agent couldn't refrain from taking a pot-shot when they reached the car.

"We're supposed to all fit in _that_? Prentiss, that's like a Hot Wheel," he commented. "What is with you people here and driving toy cars?"

"We have to keep them small so when tough guys come over from the States thinking they actually know how to drive, they don't kill us all," she replied without missing a beat.

Both Hotch and Rossi shot smirks in Derek's direction. He knew he'd been beat.

"Alright. Alright. Touché," he grumbled. "But I'm sitting up front."

Emily economically piled their bag in the small hatchback area to the rear of the car. Deferring to Morgan's wishes. Hotch and Rossi climbed into the back while Morgan made his way to the front right of the vehicle.

"Other side, Morgan," Emily reminded him gleefully.

Rolling his eyes above his sunglasses, Derek lumbered over to the passenger side of the car. After adjusting her seat forward slightly to give Hotch a little bit more legroom, Emily keyed the engine and the four were off towards the city.

"Seriously, Prentiss. How the hell can you drive like this?" Derek asked curiously as Emily guided the vehicle onto the M4. "This is messed up."

"A little thing called patience," she answered. "It's odd at first, but you get used to it after awhile. What did you do anyway?"

"It was that big of a deal," he insisted. "Just a fender bender coming out of one of those stupid roundabout things."

"Morgan, there are roundabouts all over D.C.," she reminded him. "It shouldn't be that hard."

"I know how to use a roundabout Prentiss," he countered. "But once you add up the whole wrong side of the road, steering wheel on the wrong side of the car thing, it's just crazy."

"Lucky for us Garcia had the foresight to order full insurance," Rossi quipped.

"Smart girl," Emily observed. Deciding she had teased Morgan enough, Emily decided to ask Hotch the question that had been nagging her since the night before.

"So Hotch, how exactly did you convince Strauss to let you come all the way over here?"

"Actually, that was a lot easier than you might think," Hotch replied. "As you know, the resolution of the Flagstaff case never sat well with Erin. She's afraid of the hit the reputation of the BAU and the Bureau might take if it somehow turns out we were wrong and let a serial killer across international borders. It didn't take much convincing to get her to let us come over here and check things out. And she knows Reid, JJ, and Blake are more than capable of holding down the fort for a little bit."

"Strauss has been way more chill since she came out of rehab anyway," Derek observed. "I know you weren't around for very long after she came back, Prentiss. But trust me, she's a lot better now."

"Well, that's good," Emily agreed. She was still not a fan of Erin Strauss. She had never quite forgiven the woman for trying to blackmail her into sabotaging Hotch and for so viciously questioning the team after the Reaper killed Hailey. Nonetheless, she felt badly that the Section Chief's alcohol addiction had destroyed her marriage and almost her career. And she had to admit that she had a slightly better appreciation of the woman now that she herself was in a leadership position. Dealing with the politics and other macro-level decisions of running an office could be a real pain. She was pleased that tensions had eased at least somewhat between Strauss and the team.

The quartet spent the rest of the ride to London catching up. Emily couldn't believe Jack was now eleven and was in his last year of elementary school. He was still apparently quite the enthusiastic soccer player and wanted to play clarinet next year in the sixth grade band, quite to Hotch's chagrin. Morgan's sister Sarah had been married for just under a year and Derek was expecting his first little niece in a few months. Rossi confessed that he was contemplating retirement – for good this time – within the next couple of years. He planned on still teaching part-time at the FBI Academy and writing another book.

They reached the hotel early that afternoon as the sun peaked on an unusually bright London day. Hotch, Rossi, and Morgan took about twenty minutes to check-in then piled back into Emily's car for a ride to INTERPOL.

"I've got us set up in a conference room just down the hall from my office and ordered in lunch," Emily explained as she procured them three visitor's badges from the security guards at the entrance. "Unfortunately I can't be with you all day because I have to attend to a few other things."

"Of course. Understood." Hotch said.

"But if you need me for anything. Whether it's profiling or coffee, let me know," she insisted. "I'll pop in around five otherwise. Victor should be in a little bit later to answer questions and give us any updates."

Emily went to drop her bag in her office before taking the guys down the hall. Filing in behind her, Morgan let out a low whistle. Rossi nodded in approval.

"Not bad," Hotch commented with a smirk, admiring the glass front wall overlooking a sort of bullpen-like area below and Emily's large, walnut desk in the middle of the spacious room.

"Well, they had to give me _some _perks," Emily commented. "I wasn't going to leave you guys for nothing. Come on, I'll take you to the conference room."

The room in question, while not as nice as Emily's office, was no dump. A large window admitted light from the outside and handful of plush leather chairs surrounded a black oval table with several laptop connections. A flat screen on the wall provided a hookup to magnify computer presentations. In the corner, a small counter held a single-cup coffee maker and was amply stocked with options. Two neatly-stacked piles of files sat in the middle of the table.

"You know, Prentiss, if you're hiring, I might be persuaded to get used to this," Morgan joked.

"I could get used to you taking orders from me," Emily quipped back.

"The files are divided into everything Garcia forwarded on the Flagstaff case on one side and then everything I have from Scotland Yard in the other," she continued, addressing all three men. "Since nobody not named Spencer Reid could possibly remember our WiFi password, I wrote it down on the inside of the top folder from Scotland Yard. Just please don't go selling it on eBay. I worked up a preliminary profile last night that I've forwarded to your e-mail, but I'm afraid there's not a whole lot to go on."

"You've done more than enough, Prentiss. Thank you," Hotch said, seating himself at the table.

"You're sure I can't get you anything else?" Emily insisted.

"Emily. We're fine. Go on," Rossi maintained.

Sufficiently assured, Emily returned to her office to address some more INTERPOL matters. It took everything in her not to drop everything and work on the profile with Hotch, Rossi, and Morgan. She desperately wanted to do everything in her power to help Victor and his colleagues solve their case. But she also knew that she had responsibilities to INTERPOL she couldn't simply abandon. Besides, if anybody could improve the profile, it was the three guys down the hall. Emily considered herself a strong profiler, but profiling was now just a small fraction of her job. Hotch, Rossi, and Morgan still did it full-time and were among the best. So she diligently addressed INTERPOL business for several hours, hoping that the fact none of the BAU agents had come seeking assistance meant that they were making some progress.

By the time early evening rolled around, Emily was satisfied that she was ahead on INTERPOL work for the weekend and decided to check in on the profile.

"How's it going guys?" she asked, admitting herself to the conference room. Any small hope she had was dashed when she saw their tired, frustrated faces.

"Well, we decided to put together a profile of our own before we looked at yours, just so we weren't influenced one way or the other by anything you thought," Derek explained.

"And?" she pressed.

"We came up with pretty much the exact same thing," Derek sighed, smacking a manila folder against the table.

"So, if you were looking for some good news, your profiling hasn't gotten rusty," Rossi commented.

"But the bad news is we haven't made much progress beyond what you already have," Hotch concluded.

"Nothing?" she asked dejectedly, throwing herself down in the nearest chair.

"We know you had Garcia go ahead and cross all of students and college staff from the Flagstaff case with your U.K. Border Records," Derek commented. "We had her run all of the Flagstaff police and crime techs too. Nothing."

"Ugh. Son of a bitch," Emily sighed.

"Tell me about it," Rossi commented.

"Chief Prentiss," came an interruption from the doorway. A male INTERPOL agent in his early thirties with red hair poked his head into the room.

"Yeah, Sullivan?" she asked.

"Your husband is here looking for you. He's at your office."

"Could you send him back here, please?"

"Yes, ma'am."

"Thanks Sullivan."

Turning her attention back to the BAU men, Emily caught Derek looking at her with a mischievous glint in his eye.

"What?" she demanded.

"Chief Prentiss," he said in a mock deep, serious voice.

"Oh, shut it Morgan."

"Yes ma'am."

Emily barely had time to finish rolling her eyes when Victor entered the room.

"Hey," she said, happy to see that, while still tired, he looked a little bit better than he had the previous night.

"Hey," he answered, briefly planting a kiss on her forehead. "You need to clear me with the new security guard. He almost didn't let me in. What happened to the last guy? Willis? I tried to call you, but you left your phone in your office."

"Dammit, I forgot about that, I'm sorry. Willis is on vacation," she answered. "How'd you get in?"

"I asked him how many minutes it took you to lick your bottom lip raw today," he grinned.

"_That's _really reassuring," Emily answered sarcastically. "I'll have to talk to him."

"Victor, you remember Aaron Hocthner, David Rossi, and Derek Morgan," she said, indicating each BAU agent in turn.

"Of course," he said, extending his hand to each. "Thank you so much for coming. I know it's a terribly long trip."

"Don't mention it man," Derek insisted. "Trust me we all want this case solved. I'm just sorry these are the circumstances under which we had to meet again."

"We're here to help in anyway we can," Hotch added.

"I appreciate it," Victor replied. "I don't have a lot of new information, unfortunately. But I did conduct more extensive interviews with the victim's families. I brought copies of my notes for you. Emily says you call it victimology?"

"Those might actually help substantially," Hotch remarked. "Sometimes the more we learn about the victims the more we can learn about the killer who targets them. We think the preliminary profile Emily gave you is accurate, but we're going to try and flesh it out some more as quickly as possible."

"Well, like I said, I really appreciate it," Victor said. "I don't know about the rest of you, but I'm starving. You three have to be hungry after your trip."

"I could use a bite," Derek concurred.

"Any good Italian around this neighborhood, by chance?" Rossi asked.

"No," Victor and Emily answered simultaneously.

The five eventually settled on a sort of catch-all restaurant a few blocks down the street. No sooner had they settled down to their table than Victor's phone began buzzing incessantly.

"Polizzi," he answered. His face immediately sank. None of the profilers needed more than one guess to figure out what that meant.

"On my way," he said, rising hastily and hanging up the phone.

"Another body?" Emily asked.

"I'm afraid so," he sighed. "I'm sorry. I have to go."

He gave Emily the briefest of affectionate squeezes on the shoulder before hurrying out the door.

"Damn," Derek muttered.

"This is only going to get worse," Emily concluded dejectedly, staring blankly off to a vacant corner of the room.

"What makes you say that?" Hotch asked.

"The other two bodies were found in the early morning hours, well after the streets were largely vacant. It's only seven o'clock now."

Rossi was the first to catch on to her point.

"The unsub's devolving."

_That's all for now. Again, Chapter 5 should be up relatively soon. I hope you enjoyed. As always, feedback is welcomed and appreciated. Thanks for reading!_


	5. Breaking Points

_Author's Note: Okay, back with Chapter 5. This one involves a lot of dialogue and a fair amount of profiling. It took a little bit longer to write, for reasons I'll explain briefly at the end. Thanks for your patience, and I hope you enjoy!_

Emily, Hotch, Rossi, and Morgan cut their dinner as short as possible and headed back to INTERPOL.

"Working the weekend?" the security guard commented upon seeing his boss return to the office on a Friday evening.

"Afraid so," Emily confirmed. "Also, Morris, next time somebody comes in claiming to be my husband, please call up to confirm it. Anybody who spends five minutes around me could tell you I lick my lips too much."

"Sorry, Chief. You got it."

Emily was waiting for Morgan to make a sardonic "Chief" comment again, but he refrained. Like Emily and the others, he was no longer in the mood for jokes. They had to catch a killer. Fast.

As the four settled back into the conference room, Hotch began distributing some of the new files that Victor had brought over from Scotland Yard.

"I think it'd be best if we all start reviewing Superintendent Polizzi's notes on the victims. We can brainstorm on victimology, add that to the profile and go from there," Hotch said.

Without argument, each of the profilers grabbed a copy of the notes and began flitting through them as fast as they could read, pausing every so often to scribble a note in the margins or to grab a cup of coffee. Even Emily, who'd largely sworn off coffee years ago in an effort to reduce anxiety, helped herself to a couple of cups. She usually allowed herself to relapse a bit on long nights like this one.

"Alright," Hotch said, after all four had finished reading and adding annotations. "What do we have here?"

"Neither girl strikes me as a high-risk victim," Morgan commented, rubbing at his tired eyes. "Both were good students. Close to their families. Clean criminal records. Neither one of them seemed to have any trouble at home or school."

"I agree they weren't high-risk in the traditional sense," Rossi partially concurred. "But I wouldn't exactly say they weren't high risk at all. Look at how their families describe them. Rachel Watson's father said she was quiet, introverted, didn't go out much. She focused on her studies. Sarah Wellesley's parents said she kept a small group of friends and liked to go on solitary walks."

"So even though they don't generally engage in risky behavior, both had a tendency to isolate themselves," Hotch observed.

"That would certainly increase their chances of becoming a target," Derek added.

"So that probably eliminates stalking," Emily chimed in. "He waits and hides until he sees an isolated victim of his type. As soon as he finds them, he attacks with the taser, stabs them immediately in the heart, goes into overkill, then folds the hands, and leaves. The fact that he can sit around and wait for up to hours at a time means he's probably either unemployed or works from home, that would give him that kind of flexibility."

"And a third body this quickly, at this time of day instead of late, we're definitely looking at a spree killer now," Derek added.

"So," Rossi summed. "We have a spree killer, but he's patient enough to wait for the right opportunity. He's not completely impulsive. This means he's smart enough to stay relatively controlled. He doesn't regularly go to a job site. He's a strong, middle-aged male who probably wouldn't look out of place on the campus and he lives in the area."

"Well, there's our profile," Hotch concluded. "Or at least a start of one. Assuming this third victim follows pattern, we can turn over the profile to Scotland Yard start running employment records on middle age men in the area."

"It's still a huge population," Emily observed. "At best they'll end up with dozens of names."

"At least it's something," Derek pointed out. "They can get a list of suspects while we go through the evidence from the new crime scene and see if we can narrow it down."

"We still haven't figured out how this connects to Tubbs," Emily said, frustrated. She was still absolutely certain that there was a connection somehow and was almost beside herself with irritation over thus far having failed to connect the dots.

"Since we still don't have any leads on that end, right now our best move is to wait and see if there's anymore evidence Polizzi can bring us," Hotch stated.

As if on cue, Victor rapped on the door and entered the conference room. Even considering how tired he'd looked the last few days, he appeared much worse for the wear. His black hair was matted to his forehead in some spots. In others it stuck almost straight up, as if he'd frantically been running his hands through it. The whites of his eyes were starting to turn red. His tie sagged loosely around his neck. His normally calm and even-keeled demeanor had disappeared. He looked edgy, frantic.

"Nothing new?" Emily guessed.

"No, it's the same damn thing," he said rapidly, almost rambling. "Twenty-year-old woman. Emma Chesser. Brunette. Stabbed in the heart and then absolutely butchered. And we have nothing. No witnesses. No suspects. Nothing."

"We may be able to give you some help," Hotch offered. "We have a profile. Your killer lives in the area. Is a middle-aged, educated male and either works from home or is unemployed. You should start running employment records in the area."

"You know that from those few files I gave you?" Victor asked, somewhat skeptically.

"He patiently waited for his victims to cross his path on lightly travelled parts of the campus," Emily explained. "And now he's killing at odd hours of the day. His schedule must give him some sort of flexibility."

"Alright, we'll start running records," he said. He seemed at least slightly relieved. Even though they had only given him a very general outline it was _something _to start with. Every person in the room knew all too well that in a case like this one, where a new victim seemed to be claimed every minute but little evidence appeared, any lead seemed like a godsend.

"Still no idea how this connects to the Nathan Tubbs case?" he added.

"Not yet," Emily answered.

"Emily, I know you're going to hate me for bringing this up again," Derek said, leaning back in his chair and folding his hands behind his head. "But we still don't know it was Tubbs."

"Morgan, will you…" Emily prepared to round on Derek, but was interrupted by her exasperated husband.

"Wait. Wait. What?" he demanded, taken aback by Derek's comment. "What do you mean you don't know?"

"Prentiss you never told him?" Derek asked, raising his eyebrows in surprise at her.

"There's nothing to tell him, Morgan," she shot back. "I don't know why you still insist on entertaining the idea of Tubbs' innocence, but every single thing about that case pointed to him. It was a perfect match."

"Be that as it may, Prentiss, we never definitively proved it beyond a reasonable doubt," Hotch pointed out.

At this, Emily actually dropped her jaw and snorted in disbelief. Hotch had been so certain at the time. Why was he waffling now? Emily didn't have much time to question her former Unit Chief, however. Victor was still insistent on getting an explanation.

"Emily," he pressed. "What the hell is going on?"

"Can we go outside for a second?" she asked him, switching to Italian and jerking her head towards the door. She wanted a chance to explain things without the risk of the others listening in and interrupting. To her great relief, Victor acquiesced, moving out of the doorway to allow her to exit first, then following her into the hall and shutting the door behind him.

"Please explain this to me," he asked seriously, following her lead by continuing in Italian.

"I told you, this case was a tough one for us," Emily explained. "And I still don't know why, but part of the way through the case, after we arrested Tubbs but couldn't find any physical evidence, Morgan became convinced that the profile was wrong. He was the only one on the team who supported the police's decision to let Tubbs go."

"Wait, you had him and let him go?" Victor asked in disbelief.

"While we had him in custody, the copycat killer struck," she said. "Remember, the girl I told you about who committed suicide? She killed another brunette student in order to cast doubt on the investigation. We knew it wasn't the same killer. The victim had been bludgeoned instead of tased and the stab wounds were shallow and hesitant, but the Flagstaff police felt compelled to let him go."

"Then how did he end up dead?"

"Hotch and Gideon had the campus bugged decided Morgan and I should tail Tubbs. We thought the copycat would seek him out and possibly goad him into confessing. We were right, the girl met Tubbs, but Morgan and I had to stay pretty far back to remain out of sight. By the time either of them said anything we could act on, the girl snapped and killed Tubbs. When Morgan and I refused to shoot her, she stabbed herself."

"Well, now I see why things were such a mess," Victor remarked bitterly.

"I just don't understand why you lied to me," he continued in a tone equal parts angry and wounded.

"Lie to you?" she said angrily and defensively. "I didn't lie to you. I told you we never found the physical evidence necessary to connect them."

"Yeah, you just conveniently left out the part about having to let the guy go from custody and the fact that your partner, who you've always told me is one of the best, didn't even think it was him!" Victor snapped.

"It. Was. Him," Emily insisted through nearly gritted teeth, with a fire in her eyes. It was a fire Victor had seen only a few times before, when the pair were still working at INTERPOL and an agent screwed up or a case was going badly. It was the first time he'd ever been directly on the other end of it, and he didn't like it.

"He had the motive. His job gave him the perfect opportunity," she continued. "When we raided his house we found clippings about the murders on his wall. When Gideon interrogated him about three brutal murders, he put his head down and took a nap. You're a cop. Does that seem like the wrong guy to you?"

Victor threw his hands up in resignation.

"Honestly, I don't know what to make of all this," he said, turning to leave. "Send me the profile and I'll have our analyst run employment records."

"Where are you going?" she demanded.

"Back to work," he replied shortly.

With a mixture of anger and disappointment, Emily watched him disappear down the hallway. She knew better than to try and stop him. He was desperate, frustrated, and confused and he was going to feel lost and useless if he wasn't working on the case. It was a moment before she remembered the BAU men still in the conference room. The mixture of anger and disappointment disappeared into a seething rage.

"Morgan, just what in the hell was that?" she demanded as she re-entered the conference room, nearly ripping the door from its hinges.

"What in the hell was what, Prentiss?" he retorted. "Being honest about the fact that we don't know? We're supposed to be as objective. We never proved anything."

"Because there was never a need for a trial," Emily reminded him. "And do you think it's just a coincidence that the killings stopped? For God's sake, Morgan. Tubbs fell asleep in interrogation. What more do you want? Do you need him to return from the afterlife to sign a full confession?"

"I want to know we're right," Morgan answered, trying and failing to conceal his own anger. "I thought that's what mattered to you too, but I guess that's less important than looking smart for your husband."

He'd crossed a line, and everyone in the room knew it. Emily bit her bottom lip hard, momentarily fumbling for her words until she settled on the least incendiary thing she could manage:

"Get out."

"Seriously?" Derek replied angrily. "You're kicking me out? What, now you're going to pull rank on me?"

"No," Emily replied, struggling to maintain a semblance of composure. "I'd rather not do that. So I'm going to ask you first. Please leave."

Derek looked prepared to fire back. Hotch, sensing the situation was about to spiral out of control, wisely intervened.

"Morgan," he said calmly, but with a hint of warning in his voice. "Take a walk. We can sort this out in the morning."

"Hotch are you serious…" Derek started, before stopping short at Hotch's insistent expression.

"Okay," he relented, though clearly not willingly. He turned his searing gaze back on Emily, who met it with one of equal force. The two didn't break eye contact until Derek left the room.

Pausing until Derek was safely out of earshot, Hotch then turned to Emily.

"Prentiss, I know you believe Tubbs was the killer and I know you desperately want to solve this case, I understand that," he said. Emily had difficulty reading his tone. It sounded as if he was struggling to avoid reprimanding her, but she wasn't sure whether this was because he actually sympathized with her or because he thought it was inappropriate to reprimand somebody who was no longer his subordinate.

"But Morgan is right about one thing," he continued. "You can't let your marriage prevent you from doing your job."

Emily was taken aback. She thought this was rather rich, coming from a man who watched his job destroy his marriage. But she also knew she would rather die than tell him this. She would never use Hailey against him. Ever.

Thankfully, he relieved her of the necessity of coming up with a response. Apparently the look on her face told him all he needed to know.

"I'll show myself out," he said, moving swiftly out of the room.

Hotch's departure left Emily alone in the room with Rossi. Emily could feel his eyes on her, but had no idea what to say. She gazed awkwardly at her shoes for several agonizing moments before Rossi at last took upon himself to break the silence.

"Kind of ironic, isn't it?" he remarked. "Receiving work-marriage balance advice from one guy who's never been married and another whose marriage ended in disaster."

"Please don't say that to them, Rossi," Emily begged.

"I won't," Rossi said, pretending to be insulted at the mere suggestion.

"Besides," he added good-naturedly, "I'm the last person who gets to opine on that subject. I have more divorces on my record than the three of you combined have marriages."

Even in her sour mood, Emily couldn't resist cracking a small smirk. Rossi really did have a talent for defusing these tense situations.

"I screwed this up, Rossi," she sighed. "I should have let this get under my skin. I normally don't."

"No, you just normally don't show it," Rossi corrected her. "Situations like this should get under your skin, it's what makes us human. And it's not a sin to show it sometimes, Emily. You're tired. We all are. This case is personal for everyone involved but me. Tensions boil over. It happens."

Emily nodded silently. She was still disappointed in herself for allowing her normally stoic composure to crack.

"For what it's worth," Rossi continued. "I think you're right. I reviewed all of the records on the flight over. There's no doubt in my mind that Tubbs was the killer, and I had no stake in the case."

"So what do we do now?" Emily asked.

"Nothing," Rossi answered.

"Rossi, we can't just do nothing," Emily retorted. "There's somebody out there killing these women."

"Emily, right now everybody is too tired and angry to think straight," he pointed out. "We all need a break, including you. We have a preliminary profile. Send it in, and we come back with fresh eyes tomorrow."

Emily wanted to argue, but found she no longer had the energy or certainty required.

"Go home, kiddo," Rossi insisted.

After another moment or two of thought, Emily relented.

"Alright," she agreed. "Want a ride to the hotel?"

"I can get a cab," he insisted.

"Okay. If you want to go then, I'm just going to stay behind and forward the profile real quick."

"Nah, I think I can wait for you," Rossi countered smartly. "I wouldn't want you to get some crazy idea like waiting for me to leave and then staying here all night to work on the profile."

Emily shot him an annoyed but playful glance.

"I hate how good you are at your job sometimes," she remarked.

"Trust me, so do I."

Emily promptly forwarded the profile to Victor's office and re-stacked the files strewn across the table. Wrapping herself tightly in coat and scarf and slinging her messenger bag back over her shoulder, she accompanied Rossi into the chilly London night. Or early morning, rather. A quick glance at her watch told Emily is was creeping past one o'clock in the morning.

Luckily, Rossi still didn't have too much trouble flagging down a cab.

"Get some sleep," Rossi commanded Emily, giving her a brief but affectionate pat on the arm.

"Thanks, Rossi. You too," she said earnestly, watching as Rossi lowered himself into the cab and was whisked off to the hotel.

Emily allowed herself to linger for a few moments, watching the fog of her breath cut through the frigid air. Feeling calmer than she had in hours, Emily finally put the dreadful day behind her and headed home.

_So, the reason this took so long to write is that one thing I wanted to try and explore in this story is what it would be like for the characters involved here to navigate through such an intensely personal case and the tensions that would inevitably arise. To do that, I tried to strike a delicate balance with Prentiss, Morgan, Hotch, and Polizzi, with each of them sort of "crossing the line" a bit in their own way without making any one of them as "the bad guy" so to speak (with Rossi playing the role as a mediator, since he isn't as involved as is one of the few characters who ever succeeds in getting through to Prentiss when she's bothered). Essentially, what I want is for all of them to crack a little bit and get slightly nasty with each other (because that's what I think would really happen in this situation), but all have understandable reasons for doing so. It was a tough balance to strike. Harder than I thought. Hopefully I came close and, more importantly, generated interest in how these tensions will play out as the case unfolds in the next couple of chapters._

_Thanks again, and feel free to leave comments/suggestions!_


	6. Saturday

_Author's Note: So, I managed to squeeze in another chapter over the weekend, but it'll probably be a few more days before I can get the next one up. Until then, I hope you enjoy Chapter 6. Thanks for reading!_

It was slightly past two when Emily at long last made her way through the front door of the flat and into the confines of home. She was completely drained physically, mentally, and emotionally and had every intention of collapsing into bed as soon as possible. She had barely tossed her keys onto the counter when she heard the front door rattling behind her. Victor stumbled in, looking even worse than she did. He appeared to be exerting a massive effort just to keep carrying the small go-bag he'd been hauling around the last few days while he was practically living in his office.

"Hey," Emily said wearily. There was still a thick tension between them, but both were too tired to argue or even talk much at all.

"Hey," he replied awkwardly. "You doing okay?"

"Yeah," she lied. "Just tired. You?"

"Exhausted," he confirmed, leaning heavily against the counter as if to accentuate the point. "And I don't think there's much else I can do tonight anyway. We have to wait until tomorrow to conduct any interviews and get the coroner's results. We've processed the crime scene and informed the family, and we issued a warning to the campus and surrounding areas advising young women, especially brunettes, to avoid isolating themselves around young men, especially those they don't know well."

The last statement abruptly ripped Emily out of her exhausted haze.

"Wait. Wait. _Young _men?" she asked.

"Yeah," he replied. "All of the victims are young women and on a college campus. It stands to reason that they'd be stalked and targeted by someone with easy access to them. Most likely somebody in their age group."

"But the profile points to a _middle-aged _male," she reminded him tersely.

At this, Victor merely shut his eyes and exhaled forcefully.

"You don't trust the profile, do you?" she demanded.

"Emily…" he tried to explain.

"Do you?" she pressed.

"How can I?" he responded defensively. "You don't even know if you got the suspect in the first case right."

"I'm telling you it was him," she replied tersely.

"You know, I honestly believe that you believe that with all your heart," he said, shaking his head slowly. "Truly, I do. But if I can't trust you to be completely forthright with me about how that case went down, how can I trust you on this? It's not always about being right, Emily."

"You think this is about being right? About my ego?" she demanded, genuinely furious now. "I learned a long time ago that that crap has no place in this job. I want to stop the man before another girl is murdered!"

"And you don't think that's what I want?" he replied, equally enraged now. The two were fully-engaged in the worst argument they'd ever had. "You think _I _don't want to stop this."

"I know you do," she replied. "I know it's the only thing you can think about right now. But I think you're making a mistake, and a mistake that could lead to more bodies."

"You know what?" he said, suddenly pushing himself away from the counter. "I can't do this right now. I can't take you questioning everything I do."

"Well what the hell do you think you were just doing to me?" she replied.

"I just can't," he repeated, slinging his go-bag back over his shoulder and turning towards the door.

"Where are you going?" she demanded, pursuing him.

"Anywhere but here," he answered, violently swinging the door open. "I need to clear my head. Don't follow me."

"Don't you dare slam that door in my face!" she warned, standing behind him in the doorway. He turned to face her. His expression was hard to gauge. He was clearly furious, but there also appeared to be a slight sadness in his eyes. Or maybe he was just that tired. Emily was too pissed and tired herself to tell.

"I'm not going to," he assured her. "Just please, don't follow me."

Leaving her standing in the open doorway, he skipped straight past the elevator and bounded down the stairs.

Emily was at a loss. Part of her wanted to close the door and just start pacing until she could collect her thoughts. Part of her wanted to just go to bed. Most of her wanted to ignore his warning and chase him down. But even if she caught up to him, she wasn't sure what she would do. Crying and begging was out of the question. Emily didn't believe in begging, and JJ joked more than once that Emily must have been born without tear ducts. This left trying to reason with him or trying to strangle him. The latter would obviously be counter-productive. And even in her tired, emotional state, Emily was rational enough to know she was too tired and emotional to try and reason with anybody or be reasoned with.

Resigned to the fact that she should probably allow herself to cool off and get some sleep, Emily at last shut the door and bolted it behind her. The anger-induced surge of adrenaline was beginning to ware off, leaving Emily even more drained than before. She barely managed to stagger into the sitting room and set her Glock on the table before collapsing, still clad in her suit, onto the chocolate brown sofa.

Just before nodding off, she felt a weight land on her back, belonging to one of the few remaining living things that she could be sure wasn't pissed at her.

"G'night, Sergio," she muttered.

…

Sometime later, Emily emerged from a foggy haze with a light shining brightly in her face. Squinting against the unwanted intrusion, she pulled herself into a sitting position and tried to remember why it was this unwelcome light rather than her alarm clock pulling her from her sleep. It took her a minute to recall, but when she looked down and realized she was still wearing gray slacks and jacket and a crumpled, cat hair-covered burgundy blouse, everything came flooding back to her. The alarm wasn't going off because it was Saturday. The light was pounding her face because she'd fallen asleep on the couch and forgotten to close the sitting-room curtain. She'd fallen asleep on the couch because her argument with Victor had left her too drained to properly get ready for bed. Then came the most stinging realization: Victor was gone.

It took a second moment before yet another realization struck: The light from the window wasn't what woke her after all. There was a pounding on the front door. This yanked Emily out of her stupor. She wasn't expecting company. Spying her firearm on the couch-side table, she snatched it up before advancing towards the door. It had been seven years since somebody working for Ian Doyle had broken into her apartment in D.C. Despite the passage of time, Emily still never felt one hundred percent secure in her own home, especially when she was alone. It was a paranoia she'd long ago resigned herself to living with. But a glance through the peephole assuaged her fears. David Rossi was standing outside in the hall. Hastily stuffing her gun into the holster still on her belt, she unbolted and opened the door.

"Good morning," the senior agent commented.

"What time is it?" Emily asked groggily.

"Quarter 'til eleven," Rossi answered. "I tried calling you, but you didn't answer so I decided to swing on by. I was wondering if I could take you out for coffee or whatever you're drinking these days."

"I, uh, don't think I'm exactly in a state to go out," Emily replied, indicating her disheveled clothes. God only knew how her hair and face looked. "But come on in and I'll put on a pot." she added, stepping aside to admit him.

Rossi accepted the invitation, and, after re-bolting the door, Emily followed him into the kitchen, limping slightly. Her hip was killing her again. She should have known better than to fall asleep on the couch.

"Nice digs," Rossi approved, passing through the kitchen to the sitting room and admiring the view.

"Well, it's no Rossi mansion, but it works." Emily commented as she measured out a few scoops of coffee beans. She remembered Rossi liked his coffee strong.

"Do you want some breakfast?" she added.

"Nah, thanks. I ate at the hotel."

"How is the hotel?"

"Actually, not half bad," he admitted, returning to the kitchen. Emily considered this high praise coming from Rossi, who often harshly compared the BAU's travel accommodations to the ritzy places he stayed while on book tours.

As soon as Emily had the coffee pot set and grabbed a mug from the cabinet, the turned her gaze on Rossi.

"So," she said. "Are you going to tell me what you're actually doing here? And don't bullshit me, Rossi. If you really just wanted coffee, you would have given up after I didn't answer the phone."

"Alright, you got me," Rossi confessed. "I got worried when you didn't answer. I just wanted to make sure you're doing okay after last night."

"You know Rossi, I hate to undercut your tough-guy image, but you really are sweet sometimes," she commented.

"You're not answering my question," Rossi observed. "How are you?"

Emily hesitated, but only briefly. She knew better than to try and lie to Rossi. For some reason, he alone among her BAU colleagues had always been able to read her fairly well. There was also a unique trust between the two. Rossi was one of only three living people on Earth, including Emily herself, who knew that she had an abortion at age 15. Conversely, while the entire team knew that Rossi's first wife, Carolyn, had killed herself five years prior following an ALS diagnosis, Emily was the only person who knew that she'd asked Rossi to help her do it.

It was in large part because of this unique trust that, when Emily found herself in need of someone to stand-in for her late father at her wedding, she had little hesitation in asking Rossi who showed equally little hesitation in saying yes. All things considered, telling Rossi what had happened last night seemed a relatively minor thing.

"Well, uh Victor came home last night just after I did," she began. "And he informed me that Metropolitan Police decided to warn the women at the college to avoid isolating themselves around younger men."

"He didn't trust the profile," Rossi observed.

"No, he did not," Emily confirmed.

"I don't think I need to guess how that sat with you."

"Yeah, about as well as you'd expect," she snorted. "Anyway, the upshot of it is, he's gone and I don't know when he's coming back."

"I'm sorry, Emily," Rossi said sympathetically. "How are you feeling?"

"Surprisingly numb," she admitted. "Is that weird?"

"I don't think there's a weird or normal when it comes to this sort of stuff," Rossi opined.

"Whatever happens next won't happen until this case gets solved," Emily said with certainty. "He's too consumed with it to think about anything else and, quite frankly, so am I. I just don't know how much energy I can keep putting into it with all of this INTERPOL crap to take care of, and I assume you guys can only stay for so much longer until Quantico calls you back."

"If I have anything to do with it, we're staying as long as possible until this case ends," Rossi commented. "And at the pace this guy is killing, I have a feeling that it will be within the next few days. For better or for worse."

"The only question is how many bodies pile up before then," Emily finished grimly.

Noticing that the coffee was ready, Emily busied herself pouring a cup for Rossi.

"Still take it black?" she asked.

"Only way to take it," he replied.

"We'll have to agree to disagree with that one," Emily remarked, handing him the full mug. "Speaking of the team, how are Hotch and Morgan?"

"I haven't seen Morgan," Rossi said. "Hotch said he went 'out' early this morning and he hasn't seen him since. I think he's still a bit worked up."

Par for the course, Emily thought. Truth be told, she wasn't entirely sure she was ready to talk to him yet anyway. She knew it was unfair of her, but she couldn't help but speculate that things might not be such a mess if he'd kept his mouth shut.

"I think Hotch is okay," Rossi continued. "He seemed much calmer this morning."

As if on cue, Rossi was interrupted by another rapping at the door.

"Speak of the devil," Emily muttered peaking through the peephole where she spotted the BAU Unit Chief. Somehow, even when in slacks and a button-up instead of an entire suit, he still managed to carry that authoritative air of formality about him.

"Good morning, Prentiss," Hotch said, with just a touch of stiffness, as Emily opened the door.

"Morning Hotch," she replied.

"Dave," Hotch said, somewhat surprised, as he spotted Rossi through the entranceway in the kitchen. "I thought you were going out for coffee."

"I did," Rossi replied, raising his mug. "Do I need to go?" he added awkwardly.

"No, not at all." Hotch insisted "Prentiss, may I come in?"

"Of course," she answered, stepping aside.

As Hotch and Emily both made their way into the kitchen, the tension in the air was palpable. Rossi shifted his gaze between his current and former colleague a few times.

"I uh, I think I might need to take a long bathroom break," he said observantly.

"Yeah," Emily replied. "Through to the sitting room then down the hall. First door on the left."

"Can I, uh, get you a coffee?" Emily asked.

"Please," Hotch accepted.

"Still with a touch of milk, no sugar?"

"Yes," he confirmed.

A heavy silence lingered while Emily prepped the cup and set it down on the counter next to Hotch.

"Thank you," he said, drawing a sip. "You've got a nice place"

"Thanks," she answered. "Look, Hotch, I…"

"Emily," he interrupted. "I came to apologize. What I said last night was entirely inappropriate, and I'm sorry."

She knew he meant it. Aaron Hotchner was not the type of man to give an insincere apology.

"Thank you," she said, cracking a small smile to let him know all was forgiven. "I'm sorry, too. I didn't exactly handle the situation with flying colors myself."

"Well, regardless, I don't exactly have any credibility on the subject," he admitted painfully.

"Hotch, don't," Emily warned. The apology was more than enough. She had no desire to watch him beat himself up. "It's water under the bridge."

"Alright," he relented. "But I also want you to know I think you were right about Tubbs. I asked Blake to review the case independently because she had no prior knowledge of it. She agrees with the initial assessment, and I know Dave does as well."

"_We _were right about Tubbs," Emily reminded him. "You were so sure then, Hotch. Where did all of this doubt come form all of the sudden?"

"I've always thought it was Tubbs," Hotch admitted. "But as the years went by, I questioned whether that certainty was actually supported by the facts or whether I wanted so badly to be certain just so I could justify to myself everything that happened after. I stopped trusting myself."

Emily nodded in silent understanding.

"So," the pair heard Rossi's voice from the sitting room. "The question is, what do we do now? Because Prentiss just informed me that Scotland Yard is no longer excited about the profile."

Neither Hotch nor Emily was knew if Rossi had been eavesdropping or if he just had impeccable timing, and neither particularly wished to find out.

"I assumed as much," Hotch answered. "I took the liberty of having Garcia run the employment records for men between the age of thirty and sixty within a five mile radius of the area. She sent me a list of unemployed, self-employed and part-time workers along with as much basic information she could gather about the men on it."

"Wait," Emily interrupted. "How did she get access to the U.K. job records? I gave her access to INTERPOL's database, but we don't keep that kind of information."

"I think it's just best if we don't ask," Hotch replied.

"Fair enough, as long as she doesn't get caught."

"Unfortunately," Hotch continued, "with a high population, that's still a relatively long list. But it's a start. I suggest we start examining the information available against the profile and eliminate as many as we can. I'm also having Reid and JJ go back through the Tubbs case step by step and compile a list of everyone they can think of who might have had access to information about the case, just to see if we missed anybody. They're to call me if they find anything. Meanwhile, Prentiss if you don't mind us taking over your living room, we can sort through the list her for today unless you're insistent on going back to INTERPOL."

"No, this is fine," she agreed. "But what about Morgan?"

"I think Morgan still needs some time," Hotch said delicately. "But he'll come around."

"Okay," Emily said. "Sounds like a plan. But I'm still a bit of a mess, so if you don't mind I'd like to grab a quick shower while you set up."

"Prentiss, it's your place," Rossi reminded her.

"Right," she said.

True to her word, Emily kept her shower brief and changed into much more comfortable attire of jeans and a Yale sweatshirt before rejoining Hotch and Rossi.

The trio spent the day going through the list name by name, stopping only briefly for a lunch and dinner of whatever sandwiches they could throw together from the contents of Emily's fridge. To their disappointment but not surprise, nobody stuck out and the BAU team members back in Quantico had yet to produce any new finds. However, Hotch, Rossi, and Emily were able to eliminate over 80 names by the time the early morning hours crept up once again. It was far from what they wanted, but at least it was something. Most importantly, the three were on the same page. A dramatic improvement from the night before.

"I suggest we all get some sleep and get back at it tomorrow," Hotch remarked at a bit past one o'clock in the morning.

"Hotch, odds are the killer's going to strike again any hour," Emily pointed out.

"Be that as it may, since we don't control the manpower over the investigation, all we can do is analyze and that's best done with fresh eyes. Get some sleep, Prentiss," he suggested as he packed the BAU notes and laptop.

"Split a cab, Dave?" he asked, preparing to leave.

"Sure," Rossi answered. "I'll, uh. I'll be down in a minute."

"Right," Hotch said, reading Rossi's glance. "Goodnight Prentiss."

"Goodnight Hotch."

Emily waited until Hotch shut the door behind him before speaking again.

"So, Rossi, did you tell him while I was in the shower, or did he figure it out on his own?"

Rossi didn't need clarification to know that she was talking about the fact that Victor had left. Hotch would have eventually inquired about his whereabouts if he hadn't known.

"He put two and two together pretty fast," Rossi admitted. "I didn't say a word to him."

"It probably wasn't that much of a stretch to figure out," Emily admitted. "So, I assume you're hanging back for a reason. What's up?"

"Here's the thing," Rossi sighed hesitantly. "I know it's none of my business. And it's no secret that I've been divorced three times, so I understand if you don't want to take my advice. But one _could _say I'm an expert at what not to do."

"Go on," Emily allowed.

"Don't let this fester too long, Emily," Rossi warned. "I know you're angry and he's angry and it's hard to talk. I get it. But one thing I know all to well is that if you let it go too long it can kill a marriage. And I don't want that for you. Because I also know that that man loves you and you love him, and I don't ever want you to go through that pain. You've had enough in your life as it is."

"You're right," she said in a tone barely above a whisper. "I know you are. I just don't know what to say to him. Quite honestly I'm still not sure _I _want to be around _him _right now either."

"I didn't say track him down right this second," Rossi said. "Just say something to him soon. Do you know where he is?"

"No," she admitted. "But it's Saturday night, which means I know where he'll be in the morning."

"I'll tell Hotch we aren't meeting until the afternoon," Rossi said, with a knowing half-smile. "Good night, Emily."

"Good night. And thanks, Rossi."

"Any time."

_So, it looks like we've mended the fences between Prentiss and Hotch. But what about Derek and Victor? Stay tuned. I hope you enjoyed. As always, your reviews/comments/suggestions are welcome and appreciated. Thanks!_


	7. Reconciliation?

_Author's Note: I am SO, SO, SO sorry for such a long gap between updates. I got very sick last week and staring at a computer made me feel like my head would explode. Starting to feel better now, so I will keep the updates coming more rapidly. I plan on adding another chapter before the end of this weekend._

_Thanks for your patience, and I hope you enjoy._

Emily awoke just past seven o'clock Sunday morning. Ideally, she would have preferred another hour or two of rest, but she knew she needed to get going early if she hoped to catch Victor at the right time. Shuffling towards the kitchen for a quick bowl of breakfast cereal, she caught a quick glance out the window at the thick fog and light but steady rain. It was going to be one of those foul-weather days. A biting chill, but not quite cold enough to convert the frigid rain into a less unpleasant light snow.

After finishing her breakfast and topping off Sergio's food, Emily dressed in black pants and a thick olive green sweater, pulling her hair back to pre-empt any damage from the rain. Wrapping herself tightly in her raincoat and scarf, she retrieved an umbrella from beside the front door and made her way out of the flat, down the elevator, and into the cold, wet morning.

The early weekend hour and the weather combined to leave the streets relatively clear of traffic, easing Emily's commute. She arrived at her destination plenty early, which had been her aim. She hoped to catch him while the place was still relatively empty. For a few moments on her way in, she thought she might have arrived before even he did. She was relieved of this notion upon passing through the front door.

The place was indeed near empty. Other than Emily herself, there were only three others people in the church. Two women, one sitting on the left side of the center aisle towards the back, the other sitting on the right towards the middle. As Emily passed by them, she saw that both looked to be in their 60s. The third person, wearing a black sweater, sat on the right side, a few pews back from the very front. Even though the man was kneeling and his back was to her, there was no mistaking his identity. As much out of old habit as of any conviction, Emily knelt hastily before taking a seat in the pew behind him.

"I thought you might come here," Victor said in a hushed voice, without so much as turning around to look at her.

"How'd you know it was me?" she asked, similarly keeping her voice low.

"Intuition," he said, raising himself into a sitting position and turning to face her. "That, and I was hoping it was you. Otherwise it would mean a complete stranger was sitting behind me, and considering the number of seats available, that would creep me out a bit."

Emily cracked a half-smile despite herself.

"Do you want me to go?" she asked hesitantly. He'd been emphatic about her not following him when he left.

"No," he replied gently.

Emily felt the slightest bit of relief at this. It wasn't much, but it was something.

"They, uh, they found a fourth body last night," he muttered. Like Emily, Victor was the sort of person who rarely showed his emotions, but Emily thought he looked close to tears.

"Yeah, I know. I heard the news on the radio on my way over," she sighed. "I'm sorry."

"This just sucks so much," he snorted bitterly.

"I know," she sympathized. "Trust me, I do."

"I still don't know how you did this for so many years," he remarked. "How can you handle a case like this?"

"Well, obviously I can't handle it as well as I thought," she replied. "This isn't even my case and I still let it affect me enough to cause a separation in my marriage."

"Whoa, whoa. Stop. No," Victor insisted, holding out his hand to interrupt her. "There is no separation here."

"This ring is not coming off," he continued, pointing at the thick platinum band on his left ring finger, a match of the thinner band Emily wore on hers. "Ever."

Emily swallowed hard and simply nodded. She didn't know how to respond otherwise. For the most part she was tremendously relieved. She believed he meant it. On the other hand, she was still reluctant to get her hopes up. Her deep-rooted skepticism, a product of both her upbringing and her job, had always made it hard for her to be optimistic or to trust people. Even the people she loved. In this case, event the person she loved most. She knew she would continue to feel that know of trepidation in her stomach until he came back home.

"You want me to go home," he sighed. He'd read her mind, but only partially.

"No," she corrected softly. "I want you to come home when you're ready. And you're not."

She could see it in his face, and he didn't bother to correct her.

"No, I'm not," he confirmed. "I'm sorry."

"Don't be," she insisted. "Just solve the case."

"Yeah," he sighed. "Look, I don't know who the killer is or if the profile is any good or not. But I still want you to help me."

"I never stopped," she assured him.

At a loss to say much more and noticing the church begin to fill up around them as the Mass time approached, Emily stood turned to leave. To her slight surprise, Victor reached out his hand to stop her.

"Emily, why don't you stay. Please."

Emily again allowed the ghost of a smile to flit briefly across her face as she sat back down.

"Okay," she agreed.

…

Though she agreed to stay, Emily had a hard time paying attention to what was being said during the Mass. Most of her focus was on Victor. While she'd sworn to herself long ago never to profile him, she couldn't help studying his body language. She didn't go to church with him very often, but she went enough to know that when he was there he was usually relaxed. Contemplative, but relaxed. Today was completely different. He was tense, like a man braced for a full body blow. More than once, Emily caught him exhaling deeply and gazing at the ceiling. The stress was wreaking havoc on him.

Between long, scrutinizing glances at Victor, Emily caught snippets of what was being said from the pulpit. Most of what she did hear barely registered, but a stray phrase from the priest's homily snatched her attention and burrowed itself in her head.

"Every minute we refuse to forgive someone is a minute we lose with them."

Emily tensed up the slightest bit at this, and she noticed Victor had too. She didn't need to be a profiler to know that he was thinking about her. She was thinking about him as well, but he wasn't the only one she thought of. She also thought of Morgan.

When the mass finally ended, Emily lingered for a moment, just in case Victor wanted to talk anymore. Her gut told her that he had said all he was going to say for the time being, and she was right. On his way out, he gave her a light touch on the shoulder, but that was all. For now, that was enough for Emily, at least there was some light at the end of the tunnel, even if just the briefest flicker.

She waited for him to leave the church before getting up and exiting herself. On her way out, she spotted another familiar man.

"You know, Rossi, just because I appreciate your concern doesn't mean it's okay to stalk me," she commented sardonically as she caught up to the senior agent.

"What?" he said, feigning confusion. "I'm Catholic."

"I can think of four churches off the top of my head that are closer to your hotel," she pointed out. "And you just happened to pass all of those and pick the one closest to where I live?" she added skeptically.

"Alright, alright," he confessed. "I wanted to check up on you and after what you said last night I had a hunch I'd find you here. And before you say anything, yes, I know you're a big kid and can handle yourself. I'm sorry."

"There's nothing to be sorry for, Rossi," she insisted, giving him a slight smile. "Like I said, you can be sweet sometimes. Even if annoyingly so."

"So is everything okay?" he asked.

"No," she admitted. "But, uh, I think eventually they might be."

He returned an understanding half-smile.

"Can I drop you back at the hotel?" she asked.

"Isn't that out of your way?" he mused.

"Actually, I'm on my way there now," she said. "There's something I need to take care of."

Rossi didn't need to ask what she was talking about.

"In that case, I'll take you up on it," he said.

…

Emily and Rossi didn't talk much on the way to the hotel. Emily was deep in thought and Rossi wisely decided to give her space.

"I'm going to get some breakfast," Rossi commented as they passed through the entranceway, heading for a small restaurant on the hotel's ground floor. "He's in Room 406."

"Okay, thanks Rossi," she replied, proceeding to the elevator.

For only four floors, the elevator ride seemed excruciatingly long. Emily could feel her heart start to pound more heavily in her chest. She knew she was doing the right thing in at least trying to talk to him. They saw each other far too infrequently to spend what little time they did have giving each other the cold shoulder. Still, Emily had no idea what to expect. She thought it was safe to assume he was still pissed at her, and, truth be told, she was still peeved at him. By the time she reached Room 406, she found herself half hoping he wasn't there.

After taking a deep breath to steady herself, Emily knocked on the door. The sound of movement from beyond it dashed what hopes she had of avoiding him any longer. After a few second, the door swung open.

"What's up, Hotch…" Derek said, before stopping abruptly upon seeing his actual visitor.

"Emily," he said, somewhat surprised. Emily was not happy to see him tense up.

"Hey," she replied.

"What are you doing here?" he asked, raising his eyebrows in questioning.

"I need to talk to you," she replied insistently.

She saw him struggling internally as he scrutinized her.

"Please," she pressed.

"Okay," he relented. "But I could use some food. There's a place downstairs."

"Yeah, Rossi's down there," Emily answered. "But there's another place across the street."

"Alright," he replied, grabbing an umbrella his favorite black leather jacket from beside the door and slinging it over his gray long-sleeve t-shirt. "Let's go."

The short journey across the street proved almost painfully awkward as the pair made the elevator ride and brief walk in total silence. Even after arriving at the restaurant and tucking themselves into a corner booth, they initially spoke only to the waiter. It wasn't until Emily's tea and Derek's waffles, bacon, and coffee arrived that Emily was sure that they were at least momentarily safe from disturbance and took it upon herself to make the first move.

"I'm sorry I snapped at you the other night," she blurted out.

He shot her a brooding glance that she did not like one bit.

"You kicked me out," he replied defiantly.

"I did not, kick you out," she answered angrily, only just succeeding in kicking her voice down. "I asked you to leave."

"Bullshit, Emily," he retorted.

This was going swimmingly, Emily thought bitterly. She forced herself to pause for a moment and recollect herself, knowing that the next wrong move might result in Derek bolting out the door.

And he did have a point. While she hadn't exactly ordered him out, she hadn't really left him with much choice either. Although she had purely out of anger and hurt rather than a desire to assert any authority, she knew Derek felt he had "pulled rank" on her and this was a tremendous blow to his pride. For all of his many, many qualities as an agent and a friend, he never handled real or perceived slights to his ego well. And for her part, Emily knew she'd let her emotions get the better of her, something she'd always hated herself for doing.

"You're right, I didn't exactly give you the option," she admitted. "Like I said, I blew up. And I _am _sorry."

"But you're still mad at me, aren't you?" he observed astutely.

Emily didn't see any point in trying to lie to him.

"You made it personal and it pissed me off," she admitted. "Am I still a little hacked? Yes. But that doesn't mean I don't recognize that I handled things badly, and I don't want to keep ignoring each other, Derek. We see each other what? Maybe once a year."

Derek sighed, and Emily was pleased to see him relax a little.

"You're right." he conceded. "Let's just solve this damn case."

"Morgan, I didn't come here because of the case," she started, not wanting him to think this was all a ruse to get him back on board.

"I know that," he interrupted. "But I want it solved. And not just for you. For me. For Hotch. For Gideon. For all of us."

"Okay," she proceeded cautiously. "But how are we going to do that when we're not all on the same page?"

"Actually, I've been thinking about that," Derek said between bites of bacon. "First of all, you think that I don't believe Tubbs did it. That's not true. I'm just not sure. But more importantly, it doesn't matter."

"Why doesn't it matter?" she pressed.

"Because this unsub's kills are so similar to the ones in Flagstaff that he was definitely close to that case," Derek commented. "So whether the Campus Killer was Tubbs or whether it was somebody else, possibly even the same person killing now, the unsub was probably there during our investigation. So either way, we're right to start from the assumption that they're related."

Emily thought he had a good point, but there was just one problem.

"But we ran the names of all the cops and all of the people on that campus and none of them are in this country." Emily pointed out. "JJ and Reid re-checked the case and ran even more names and nobody panned out."

"More people were involved than just cops and the college students and staff," Derek pointed out. "That's just a starting point. And even Reid can over look things sometimes. We've been rushing through this."

"So what do you have in mind?" Emily asked.

"I know we're on the clock here, I saw that another body was found last night. But I think the best way to do this is to step back and go through that case piece by piece. See what we might have missed."

"Alright," Emily agreed. "Let's go."

Emily flagged down the waiter to retrieve their bills as Derek finished his breakfast. The ice between them hadn't completely thawed, but it was thinning. Emily supposed this was good enough for now. Derek, however, apparently wasn't done.

"Prentiss, wait," he said suddenly, stopping her short as she was about to head to the counter to pay.

"What is it?"

He hesitated for the briefest of seconds.

"I'm sorry too," he said. "I crossed the line with what I said on Friday. I was wrong. I know you'd never risk getting a case wrong just to please somebody else."

"Morgan, it's fine," she insisted.

"No, Emily it's not," he countered. "You're right. We don't see each other enough to stay mad about things like this. I am sorry."

"Thank you."

"Honestly, I wouldn't even blame you this time if you did slant the case this time," Derek added.

"What makes you say that?" Emily said suspiciously, caught off guard. Like Emily, Derek usually had his patience severely tested when he thought his colleague's personal feelings affected a case. In fact, amongst everybody at the BAU, Derek seemed to have the least tolerance for it.

"Look, I was never going to tell you this because I thought it would make you uncomfortable," Derek started. "But when you came back after Doyle, I noticed that you weren't the same. I couldn't quite put my finger on it, but something was definitely missing."

Emily stared at him intensely, but didn't stop him. Derek took this as permission to continue.

"It was actually Garcia who finally noticed it. She told me you never smiled like you used to. So I started paying attention, and she was right. You didn't joke around nearly as much as you had before. And you still smiled, but it never reached your eyes like it used to. It was like we got you back without getting all of you. Like a light had gone out or something. And it didn't change after you moved to London either. When Garcia and I visited that summer of the Olympics, it still felt like part of you was gone. I started to think I was never going to see you smile like you used to. But I finally did. The night you got married."

"Morgan," Emily said slightly dumbfounded. "That's just…"

"I know. I know. I know," Derek insisted. "It sounds cheesy and crazy as hell. But I swear it's true. Victor makes you happy Emily. I'm just saying I wouldn't blame you if you acted more sure about the case to make him feel better."

"I'm not about to do that," Emily insisted. "I'm don't put myself above the case."

"I know you don't," Derek assured her. "I'm just saying I wouldn't blame you if you did. Now what do you say we go round up Hotch and Rossi and find this son of a bitch."

Emily shot Morgan a grin. It was good to have him back on her side.

"I'm in."

_So, things are starting to get at least slightly better between our heroes. Time to go unsub hunting! Sorry again for the delay. Hopefully it doesn't happen again. Feel free to leave comments/suggestions. They're appreciated as always._


	8. We Have A Name

_So, just because I was too sick to use the computer long enough to update last week doesn't mean I wasn't planning things out in my head. Consequently, I can now compensate for last week's absence with a second update in as many days._

_Here is Chapter 8 where we get our first possible big breakthrough in the case! This chapter is much more profiling/case-focused. It's a bit shorter than the other chapters, but I think if I had added any more to this one I'd end up with either really long or really fragmented subsequent chapters. _

_I hope you enjoy!_

Dodging the puddles of rain forming in the depressed points of pavement, Emily and Derek fought their way back across the street from the restaurant to the hotel. As they entered, Rossi was emerging from the hotel restaurant with a slightly smug look on his face.

"Nice to run in to you two," he commented. "Are we getting along this morning?"

Emily rolled her eyes.

"Where's Hotch?" Morgan asked. "We've got some work to do."

"I'll go get him," Rossi remarked with a satisfied glint in his eye as he walked off towards the elevator."

"You know," Derek commented. "I'd bet 20 bucks he's been sitting there this whole time watching and waiting for us. That timing was way too convenient."

"That's not a bet, that's highway robbery," Emily remarked. "It's like he's not even trying to be smooth anymore."

"Now ain't that the truth?" Derek agreed.

After a few minutes, Rossi returned with Hotch in tow.

"Ready to get to work?" Hotch asked.

"Let's do it," Morgan answered.

"Good," Hotch replied. "Prentiss, if it's alright with you I think the INTERPOL conference room is the best work space available."

"Of course," she assented.

For the second time in three days, Emily and the three BAU men all piled into her little Volvo. She supposed the situation would still be comedic if she were in a better mood, but she was sick of the case and sick of the disruption it was causing her, Victor, and her friends. She had no desire to laugh about anything. Given the silence in the rest of the car, she assumed she wasn't alone.

Just after noon, the four arrived to a near-empty INTERPOL office. Only the guards and handful of agents working emergency tips populated the building. Emily, Morgan, Hotch and Rossi climbed the stairs back up to the conference room, which they found strewn with stray notebook pages and empty coffee cups.

"Jeez, I forgot what a mess we make during manic profiling sessions," Emily commented, grabbing a garbage can (or "rubbish bin" as most of her agents called it) and hastily clearing off the table.

"Morgan and Rossi, you set things up," Hotch said, setting his Bureau laptop and casefiles on table. "I'm going to call Garcia."

As Rossi distributed the files and Morgan made to set up a timeline on the whiteboard, Hotch pulled out his phone and dialed Garcia on speaker.

"Hotch?" a groggy voice answered on the fourth ring.

"Garcia," Hotch answered firmly. "I need you to go in today and remain on standby. We'll have some names for you to check."

"Hotch, it's Sunday," Garcia protested, still clearly half-asleep.

"Garcia, I'm sorry, but we're working up against the clock here," he replied, mildly annoyed. "I need you in Quantico."

"I know you wouldn't leave us hanging, Mama," Derek interjected.

"Derek Morgan, you do realize you're in a different time zone, right?" Garcia pushed back. "It's 7:30 in the morning here. On a weekend. I remind you."

A realization suddenly struck Emily.

"Garcia, I know what you're going through," Emily sympathized. "But I really need your help."

"Ugh, Em," she groaned. "Don't you have any people there who can do this for you?"

"None as good as you, PG," Emily replied.

"Flattery only works on certain people," Garcia started. "Fortunately for you, I am one of those people. I'm on my way."

"You're the best, Baby Girl," Derek told her.

"Don't I know it," she quipped. "Alright Hotch, give me a few minutes to fire up the laptop and I will be at your command."

"Okay, thanks Garcia," he said, ending the call.

"I know what you're going through?" Derek asked Emily, eyebrows raised in suspicion. "What was that all about?"

"It's the first weekend of the month," Emily observed. "Which means, assuming that JJ's not out on a case, that last night was lady's night."

"Hangover," Derek caught on.

"Without a doubt," Emily confirmed.

Both Derek and Rossi sniggered lightly and even Hotch betrayed the smallest ghost of a smile before settling down to business.

"Alright, let's go through this," he said. Settling down in his chair. Emily and Rossi also took their seats and Derek approached the whiteboard.

"So we're called in on the case September 26, 2007. We touched down early in the morning and got straight to work. Who'd we talk to?" Derek wondered aloud.

"The local detectives, college staff, and students," Hotch remarked. "All of whom Garcia's checked."

"I talked to the medical examiner," Emily recalled. She distinctly remembered photographing the mysterious marks on the body that turned out to be taser burns. "Did we run a check on him?"

"Garcia said JJ and Reid had her run backgrounds the crime techs, but I don't know if they included the medical examiner, we should ask Garcia when we call her back," Derek commented, scrawling "ME" on the whiteboard.

"What about the media?" Rossi asked. "Did JJ or any of the detectives talk to the press?"

"Yeah, but we didn't release all of the details to the media," Emily recalled.

"Still, we need to be thorough, we'll have Garcia check on members of the local press around that time."

Derek added "Media" to the list on the board.

"Who else did we talk to after that, though?" Derek wondered aloud. "We talked to campus security, but they were included in Garcia's initial sweep. Not long after that we arrested Tubbs and Gideon interrogated him until he lawyered up. After we let him go, it was all students, cops, and college staff again."

"Wait," Emily interjected. "What about the lawyer? Did we check on him?"

"I don't think so," Hotch commented. "Add him to the list. That's enough for now. I'll call Garcia."

Hotch once again buzzed the technical analyst on speaker phone.

"At your service my liege," Garcia answered, sounding closer to her chipper self, though still tired. "Sorry I got all snappy earlier."

"That's alright Garcia," Hotch commented. "We have some names for you to run."

"Hit me."

"We need you to find the name of the medical examiner from the case and Tubbs's lawyer and cross-reference them with UK Border Records," Hotch replied.

"I already did the medical examiner and he's clean as a whistle," Garcia commented. "Still works in Flagstaff and the only time he's left the States looks like a trip to Mexico for his brother's wedding."

"Alright, well run the lawyer," Hotch replied. "We also need you to get a list of all employees working for media outlets covering the story on the ground at that time and cross reference them with UK Border records as well."

"Uh, Hotch, that's going to take some time," Garcia insisted.

"I understand that," he replied coolly. "Just get it to us as fast as you can."

"Yes sir. Over and out."

"Now what, we just wait?" Derek asked, capping the whiteboard marker and slumping into a chair.

"We can update the profile," Rossi offered. "There was another victim last night. Make sure the victimology is still consistent."

"Rossi we don't have the police reports from last night," Derek pointed out.

"No," he conceded before shooting a glance over at Emily, "but we can get them."

"Rossi, are you serious?" Emily asked, exasperated. "He does not want to talk to me right now."

"You can't know that unless you call him," Rossi countered.

"Actually I can," she countered.

"Prentiss, I know you'd rather not call him, but we need more to work with," Hotch commented. "Please," he added, subtly acknowledging that she was no longer his subordinate.

"Alright, I'll try," she gave in.

Grabbing her phone and heading out into the hallway, she dialed Victor. She was slightly crestfallen but not at all surprised to hear the phone ring unanswered four times and go to voicemail.

"Hey, it's me," she told the silence on the other end. "I know you still don't want to talk and that's not why I'm calling. I'm at INTERPOL working on the profile again and we wanted to see if you have any reports about the latest victim. Please give me a call when you get this."

Emily abruptly hung up and returned to the conference room.

"Any luck?" Derek asked when she returned.

"Nope," Emily answered nonchalantly, masking her disappointment. "I left a message."

"We might have something interesting," Hotch commented, eyes glued to his laptop. Rossi and Derek stood behind him, similarly transfixed.

"What is it?" Emily asked.

"BBC and Sky News have released the name and a photograph of the latest victim. Carrie Phillips."

"Brunette?" Emily asked.

"Yep," Rossi confirmed.

"Then I don't get it, what's so interesting?"

"She was 38," Derek remarked.

"Thirty-eight? That's a huge jump in age."

"People are being more careful which means his victim pool within his comfort zone is shrinking," Derek remarked. "He's taking the closest he can get."

"That means he's devolving faster than we thought," Emily remarked grimly. "We need to find this guy."

The buzzing of Hotch's cellphone interrupted the conversation.

"You're on speaker, Garcia," the Unit Chief commented.

"Sir, I started a filtering program to run down the names of all of the press members involved in covering the killings in Flagstaff, but that's going to take some time. So I thought in the meantime I would track down this lawyer guy."

"What did you find, Garcia?" Emily asked.

"His name is Paul Meyers. Apparently, shortly after Nathan Tubbs bid farewell to the world, Meyers quit criminal defense and went back to school at the University of Chicago to get an LLM in tax law. While he was there, he fell for a business student, Margaret Hobbes. They got married in 2010 and wouldn't you know it, Hobbes is British."

"You're kidding," Derek remarked. "Tell me you have more."

"Oh you know I do, Sugar," Garcia replied. "Meyers and Hobbes relocated to London in 2011. She's a finance manager at Lloyd's and he works for a specialty firm advising UK-based multinational companies on North American tax laws."

"He's got a full-time job, that doesn't fit the profile," Morgan commented quietly.

"Garcia, what's his address?" Emily asked.

"He lives at 14 Great Percy Street in London," Garcia said in a mock British accent.

"Thanks Garcia," Emily replied, reaching over to hang up Hotch's phone.

"It's him," Emily concluded quickly.

"Prentiss, how do you know?" Derek probed. "You heard Garcia, he has a big-time job, that doesn't fit with the profile."

"Maybe he's on vacation, I don't know," Emily answered hurriedly. "But Great Percy Street is less than two miles from University College. There's no way that's a coincidence."

"Sounds like it's time to pay a visit to Mr. Meyers," Rossi remarked.

"Well let's go," Derek said.

"We can't just go," Emily reminded him. "You have no jurisdiction here. I don't unless I'm invited to take part in the arrest, which I haven't been. And you guys aren't even armed."

"She's right, we don't have a leg to stand on," Hotch observed.

"Well we can't just sit here," Derek responded.

"Hold on," Emily insisted.

Emily pulled her cellphone from her coat pocket and called Victor for the second time that day. To her slight surprise and tremendous relief, this time he answered. Though he obviously wasn't happy.

"Emily," came his frustrated reply. "Please. I'm trying to work here. I got your message. I'll forward the report later. Stop call…"

"Will you just shut up a minute?" she interrupted impatiently. She knew that would piss him off. Right now, she didn't care. There was no time. "We have a name."

Stunned silence greeted her on the other end of the line.

"You what?" Victor finally managed to sputter.

"We have a name. Paul Meyers. He was Nathan Tubbs's lawyer. And now he lives in London."

"Does he fit your profile?" Victor pressed. Emily could tell he was still stunned by the possibility of breakthrough at last, almost to the point of being suspicious of his good luck.

"He's educated and the right age," Emily observed. "I don't know about the rest yet. But he lives on Great Percy Street."

"Great Percy? Isn't that…"

"Less than two miles from the college," Emily confirmed.

"I'm going now," Victor remarked with sudden urgency. "I want you and your old team with me."

"Do you want us to meet you there?"

"No, Perry and I will pick you up. Are you still at INTERPOL?"

"Yes."

"Alright," Victor said hurriedly but calmly. "Emily, I want you to get your flack vest, just in case. I'll bring some along for the others. We should be there in 20 minutes."

"We'll be waiting," she replied.

"And Emily," Victor added, somewhat awkwardly.

"Yeah?"

"Thank you."

"Don't thank me yet. See you in 20 minutes."

As Emily ended the call, Hotch, Rossi, and Morgan all gazed at her expectantly.

"I take it we're in?" Rossi asked.

"We're in," she confirmed. "Metropolitan will meet us downstairs in 20 minutes. Let's do this."

_Again, I hope you enjoyed! I anticipate ratcheting things up in the next chapter or two, and promise to drop at least one more chapter before the end of the weekend. Thanks so much for reading. Comments/reviews/suggestions are appreciated as always! _


	9. A Visit to Number 14

_Author's Note: As promised, here's one more update before the end of the weekend. We'll learn a lot more about our unsub and build up to the final couple of chapters. Like the last chapter, this one is very case-focused. But fret not, I promise more character interaction, especially between Prentiss and Polizzi, before wrapping this puppy up. _

_As always, thanks for reading. Enjoy Chapter 9!_

As the bone-chilling rain had yet to relent, Emily, Derek, Hotch, and Rossi waited just inside the entrance to the INTERPOL office for Metropolitan Police to arrive. Underneath her raincoat, Emily had already strapped on her flack jacket – a black Kevlar vest that read "INTERPOL" in large yellow block letters on both back and front. She and the three BAU men stared grimly and silently through the thick glass doors as they waited, a shared air of uncertainty hovering over them.

Nobody on the team had given a second thought to the lawyer after the Tubbs case. Emily and Derek could barely remember what he looked like, only vaguely recalling the slightly tall, relatively young-looking attorney with dark hair and average build. Sure, the man had sparred back and forth with Hotch – who, for that reason, recalled him with a little bit more clarity – but that was part of his job. He hadn't done anything out of the ordinary, and certainly nothing to indicate that he might be a brewing serial killer. Consequently, none of them had any idea what to expect upon confronting him.

Whatever awaited them, Scotland Yard was obviously taking their tip seriously. While Victor had promised to pick them up within 20 minutes, it couldn't have even been 15 by the time two Range Rovers with the telltale neon orange and yellow markings of British police vehicles pulled up in front of INTERPOL. The lead vehicle was piloted by Victor, the second by Chief Superintendent Perry. Unfurling umbrellas over their heads to ward off the rain, Emily, Morgan, Hotch, and Rossi, hustled out to meet them.

"Emily," Victor said popping his head out the window. Emily could see that he'd already strapped his flack jacket on over the black sweater she'd seen him in earlier that morning. "You and Agent Hotchner ride with Perry. He wants your input on how this should go down. Agents Morgan and Rossi can come with me."

Without skipping a beat, the four divided into pairs accordingly. Derek and Rossi bolted into the lead car with Victor while Hotch and Emily piled in with Perry. Emily allowed Hotch to take the passenger seat and made introductions as soon as Hotch was settled.

"Hotch, this is Chief Superintendent John Perry with Metro Police, he's Victor's commanding officer. Perry, this is Agent Hotchner, unit chief of the FBI's Behavioral Analysis Unit."

"Pleasure," Perry remarked extending his hand. Emily couldn't help but notice that, like Victor, Perry looked absolutely drained. She didn't know him particularly well, but she and Victor occasionally socialized with Perry and his wife. The man was normally impeccably groomed, but in the last few days he seemed to have allowed a mess of brown and gray stubble to overtake his face and his navy tie hung crookedly from his collar.

"I'm sorry we have to meet under these circumstances," Hotch said, returning the handshake.

"As am I," Perry commented, throwing the vehicle into gear and speeding off to catch up with Victor, who, to Emily's worry, was driving fast enough to give Morgan a run for his money.

"But I do appreciate your help," Perry continued. "Behavioral analysis isn't our forte. I'll take all the advice I can get."

"What do you need from us?" Emily asked, watching the surrounding shops and pedestrians fly by in a blur through the window.

"Honestly, I don't have the slightest clue on how to approach this," Perry admitted. "Is this psychopath going to try and shoot us all down the moment we turn up at the door."

"Doubt it," Emily assessed. "A firearm isn't his weapon of choice and he hunts his victims by slinking around in the dark. He won't be ready for a confrontation with police. If anything we should approach it as low-key as possible. Turn the sirens off before we approach and just pull up to the curve and go knock on the front door."

"I agree," Hotch commented. "Keep the situation calm. I know London police don't always carry weapons. Are you armed?"

"With this guy? You're damn right we are," Perry commented.

"That's fine, but I'd advise you to keep your weapons holstered and both your gun and flack vests concealed under a jacket. Your best chance for an incident-free confrontation is to avoid escalation unless absolutely necessary," Hotch advised.

"Seems sensible" Perry observed. Both Emily and Hotch had to admire his professionalism. Most detectives and cops they'd met working serial cases were chomping at the bit and had to be reeled in. Even in his obvious agitation, Perry was collected. Emily couldn't help being reminded a little bit of Hotch.

"Speaking of flack vests, there's one for you under the seat," Perry remarked to Hotch. "I'll going to radio Polizzi and let him know the plan. We're still about five minutes out."

Hotch reached under the seat and retrieved the vest in question. It was black like Emily's, but read "POLICE" in bold block white letters. Perry snatched his radio transceiver from the center console and radioed ahead to Victor.

"Vic, it's John. Can you hear me?"

"Loud and clear," came the response after a few seconds delay. "What's the plan?"

"Taking a minimalist approach," Perry replied. "Sirens off once we're within a half-mile. Keep your vest and gun concealed. Tell the other units stationed in the area to remain on alert but not to converge on the home unless ordered. Emily and Agent Hotchner like our chances for a clean arrest better if we don't give him a reason to panic."

"Understood," Victor answered. Emily easily recognized the pattern of short, clipped answers he always gave when distracted, she hoped this time by concentrating on the road. "See you in a few minutes."

"Right," Perry said simply, before shutting off the radio and continuing to speed through the rain towards their destination. The windshield wipers were working in overdrive, barely managing to keep things visible in front of them.

"Emily," he continued. "This probably goes without saying, but consider this your official invitation for full participation in the investigation. If you need to arrest the bastard, arrest him. If you need to shoot him, shoot him. I'll sign whatever paperwork you need. I just want to end this."

"You got it," Emily agreed.

Within a few more minutes, Victor and Perry slowed the vehicles and killed the lights and sirens. After navigating a few last turns, the pair pulled onto Great Percy Street. Initially they saw only commercial properties, small shops and restaurants. However, after a few blocks, the shops gave way to a residential area of neat, two-story brick town homes. Spotting the 14 in black numbers on a white door, Victor and Perry halted the vehicles curbside. Emily, Hotch, and Perry exited as quickly as possible and converged on the sidewalk with Victor, Morgan, and Rossi. The latter three men were all wrapped in black jackets, which, assuming they hadn't added significant bulk in the last ten minutes, concealed Kevlar vests underneath.

"Vic, Emily," Perry said, trying to keep his voice relatively low, "you two come with me. You three gentlemen stay here for a moment and wait for my signal when the premises are secure."

Emily didn't need to see the tense, distressed expressions on their faces to know that the three BAU men, especially Morgan, weren't fans of the idea of staying behind and waiting while others took charge on the front lines. It went against everything they normally did. But they also recognized that this situation was unique, so none of them protested.

"We'll be ready," was all Hotch said.

Emily, Victor, and Perry proceeded through the small wrought-iron gate that divided the front steps of the townhouse from the sidewalk. As they proceeded up the steps to the small front stoop, Victor bounded in front of Emily, blocking her from the topmost step. He was trying to be nonchalant about it, but Emily knew exactly what he was up to. His protective side was showing. He was inserting himself between her and the unsub.

As soon as Victor and Emily were in position, Perry pounded heavily on the front door. The heavy-handed knocking was necessary; the door was of the heavy Georgian style not uncommon to English townhomes. Even as the seriousness of the situation compelled Emily to reach underneath her jacket and rest her right hand on the handle of her Glock – a subtle movement she noticed that Victor and Perry also made – she allowed herself to be briefly amused at the thought of Morgan trying to kick-in such a door, only to be knocked flat on his ass.

After a few seconds of initial silence, movement could be heard coming from beyond the door. A sharp intake of breath filled Emily's lungs as the door swung open. But the man who opened the door wasn't Paul Meyers. Instead, there stood a slight woman with cropped blonde hair. The woman, dressed in an indigo cardigan and tan slacks, looked to be slightly younger than Emily. The sight of three strangers on her front step triggered a wide-eyed look of confusion and suspicion.

"I'm sorry, can I help you?" the woman asked cautiously.

"Margaret Hobbes?" Emily ventured a guess.

"Margaret Meyers, now, actually," the woman corrected. The fact that Emily knew her identity clearly only increased her disconcertment. "Do I know you?"

"Mrs. Meyers, my name is John Perry. I'm with Scotland Yard," Perry answered, leaving his right hand firmly on top of his gun while producing a badge with his left. "This is my colleague, Victor Polizzi and this is Emily Prentiss of INTERPOL."

Perry indicated Victor and Emily in turn. Both of them followed his suit in producing their badges.

"Is your husband home?" Perry continued.

"What? No," Margaret Meyers answered, shaking her head vigorously with eyes closed. Whatever Paul Meyers might have been up to, Emily was convinced his wife had no idea. She was at a genuine loss to comprehend why three law enforcement officers were at her quiet home on a Sunday afternoon.

"Do you mind if we come in for a bit, madam? Get out of the rain?" Perry asked gingerly, briefly nodding up at the sky. The rain was indeed beginning to plaster their hair to their heads. Nonetheless, Margaret Meyers was, understandably, still hesitant.

"Mrs. Meyers, please. It's very important," Emily said, peaking her head around Victor to make eye contact and trying her best to mask her urgency with a veneer of gentleness. She hoped the contrast of a sympathetic woman with Perry's stiff, though not impolite official tone would calm the woman's anxieties.

Her hunch paid off. Mrs. Meyers was not thrilled with the idea, but she moved aside to admit them, gesturing to the sitting room just to the left of the front door. Before entering the house, Perry nodded briefly at Emily who in turn waived her hand to signal Morgan, Hotch, and Rossi. All six agents and officers were careful wipe their feet on the entryway rug, not wishing to add an additional mess to the unfortunate woman's worries. They crowded into the sitting room, which the Meyers had tastefully furnished with a handsome wood coffee table and a set of comfortable-looking couches and chairs.

"Mrs. Meyers, these are Agents Aaron Hotchner, Derek Morgan, and David Rossi," Perry said by way of introducing the BAU Agents. "They're with the American Federal Bureau of Investigation."

"The FBI?" Mrs. Meyers asked, perplexed. Emily felt a slight surge of sympathy for the woman. It couldn't be easy to have her sitting room unexpectedly flooded with six law enforcement officials, three of whom were foreign. Five actually, Emily mentally corrected herself. Though she and Victor lived and worked domestically, they were very obviously non-British.

"I'm sorry," Mrs. Meyers continued. "I don't understand. Why are you here? And what does this have to do with Paul?"

"Mrs. Meyers," Victor asked gently. "Are you aware of the recent murders at University College?"

"Of course," she replied. "It's all over the news. It's terrible…Wait. Why are you asking me this? You can't possibly think that Paul…"

"Mrs. Meyers," Hotch interjected. "Are you aware that in 2007 your husband represented a man accused of murdering three women?"

"P-Paul doesn't like talking about his old cases," she stammered in reply. "All he's ever said is that he had to represent some terrible people…"

"Ma'am," Hotch continued. "The man your husband represented in 2007 murdered three brunette women on a college campus in the United States in the exact same manner as these women here were murdered this week."

"And you think Paul?" Mrs. Meyers asked, now towing dangerously close to the line between bewilderment and hysteria. "That's not possible," she insisted, stepping aggressively toward Hotch. "He quit his old job to get away from those kinds of people. He isn't like them!"

With some sense of urgency, Emily grabbed Mrs. Meyers' shoulder and directed her firmly but gently to the nearest couch.

"Mrs. Meyers, sit down," Emily insisted. "Just please, sit."

Mrs. Meyers reluctantly submitted, landing hard on the couch and beginning to tear up. Emily sat beside her, desperately hoping to mine the needed information before the woman completely shut down.

"Look at me," Emily insisted. "Look at me. There you go," she continued as Meyers slowly complied. "I know this is hard, but have you noticed any changes in Paul's behavior lately. Anything out of the ordinary? Even if it seems harmless, it may be important."

"I…I don't know," Mrs. Meyers struggled. "There hasn't really been an 'ordinary' for Paul since his diagnosis."

"Diagnosis," a confused Victor interrupted. "What diagnosis?"

"Paul," Mrs. Meyers began to answer, before pausing and swallowing hard. She was struggling to maintain what little composure remained.

"It's okay," Emily encouraged her. "It's alright. Take your time."

"A little under three years ago, Paul began having terrible headaches," she explained, still trembling with emotion. "We thought at first they might just be migraines. He just ignored them for months and tried to keep working. Finally, when he couldn't stand it anymore we saw a doctor. Paul had a tumor, and since we had put it off for so long, it was fairly large. He started treatment right away. He got very sick, and the tumor stopped growing but it didn't get any smaller. A year ago we even went back to the U.S. for a time to try some experimental treatments. Nothing made him better and he was so, so sick. He…he finally decided that the small possibility of an improved prognosis wasn't worth the suffering. He stopped all of the treatments except for the pain medication and we came home. He's physically stronger again now, but probably has a year, maybe less."

Derek was the first to break the ensuing heavy silence.

"Son of a bitch," he muttered softly.

"Was that the stressor?" Victor asked Emily.

"It was more than that," Emily sighed. "It was probably the cause."

"What do you mean?"

"It's extremely rare," Rossi explained. "But sometimes a brain tumor can change a person's psychology, especially if it grows near the part of the brain that controls our moral decision-making. It's possible to turn a perfectly normal man into a killer."

"Paul Meyers is a smart man who already had the details of the Campus Killer's murders locked away in his subconscious because he saw the files when representing Nathan Tubbs," Hotch continued the explanation. "Combine that with his loss of the ability to control his decision making and you have the perfect storm for a repeat killer. It also explains why he didn't come up in our initial search of the area. He's not unemployed, he's on medical leave. It gives him all the time he needs."

At Hotch's comment, Mrs. Meyers let loose a terrible scream and buried her face into the back of the couch.

"Mrs. Meyers! Mrs. Meyers!" Emily said, grabbing the woman's shoulder in what she knew would be a vain attempt at calming her. "Mrs. Meyers, I'm sorry. I'm so sorry. But we need to know where Paul is."

"He's a good man," Mrs. Meyers insisted, keeping her face firmly buried in the couch. "He's not a killer."

"I know that," Emily assured her. "But as long as he is out there all of those women like the ones you saw on the news are in danger. And I know you don't want anybody else to get hurt. You need to tell me where he is."

"I don't know," Meyers said, turning her red-eyed, tear-streaked face back to Emily. "I honestly don't. He left about an hour ago."

"Do you know what direction he went?" Emily pushed. "Did he take the car?"

"No," the woman answered, shaking her head slowly. "He didn't take the car. He went on a walk. He's been going on walks a lot lately. I didn't ask him much about it because I thought he was just depressed. That he needed to clear his head."

It wasn't necessary for anyone to mention the obvious out loud. They could all connect the dots. Paul Meyers hadn't gone out on walks to clear his head. He had gone out to kill.

"An hour ago," Perry commented. "Jesus, we could have passed him on the way here."

"We need to get over to the campus right now," Victor concluded. "I'll call in all available units in the area."

"Vic," Emily called out. Their eyes met for the first time since earlier in the church that morning. There was still some tension present, but there was no time to think about it right now. "Call someone to stay with her," she continued, indicating Mrs. Meyers, who had now buried her head hopelessly in her hands.

"Of course," he agreed. "If you're coming, we need to go."

Emily rose from the couch and prepared to follow him out the door when her progress was halted by a hand grabbing at her arm.

"Please," Mrs. Meyers begged her. "Please don't hurt Paul. It isn't his fault. Promise me you won't hurt him."

Emily couldn't make that promise. It was up to Paul Meyers. They'd try not to hurt him, but if he left them no choice, there was nothing she could do. Still, there were times in this line of work when telling a person what they needed to hear was infinitely better than telling the truth. As much as she hated it, this was one of those times.

"I promise," she lied. "We won't hurt him."

Freeing herself from Mrs. Meyers' weakening grip, Emily exited the home and climbed back into one of the Range Rover's this time with Victor and Derek, leaving Hotch and Rossi with Perry. As soon as the doors were closed, Victor tore off towards University College. If possible, driving even faster than before. The afternoon was beginning to give way to the dark of evening, and the rain had yet to stop.

"Why'd you tell her we wouldn't hurt Paul, Emily?" Victor asked quietly, still keeping his gaze intently on the road before him. "We don't know that."

"I told her what I had to," Emily said. "There's no point in causing her anymore pain until we know."

"Put yourself in her shoes," Derek pointed out. "How would you feel if Emily was dying and we suddenly showed up at your door to tell you she was the most wanted killer in the country and we might have to shoot her."

"Point taken," Victor conceded grimly. "So what happens if we can't find him tonight? If we don't catch him?"

"Oh, you'll catch him tonight," Derek assured him.

"How do you know?"

"He's set in a pattern," Emily explained. "If we don't catch him on the campus, he'll go home and your guys will arrest him there. The only question now is if you're going to arrest him for four murders or five."

_And so the chase is on! I anticipate the story only lasting a couple more chapters, so I do hope you'll stay tuned. In the meantime, feel free to leave comments/suggestions/reviews. They're always appreciated. Thanks again!_


	10. Trust

_Apologies for the delay in posting. I've been working on this chapter for a long time trying to cover a lot of ground and resolve various threads of the story. What I got was a big unwieldy mess that I've been trying to wean down to a more manageable size. Ultimately, I still ended up with a huge chapter, so I decided to split in two and it took awhile to choose and edit a good demarcation point. Anyway, the good news is that the next chapter is also essentially finished save for some fine-tuning so it should be up by tomorrow. _

_In the meantime, I hope you enjoy Chapter 10. Apologies again! As always, thanks for reading._

Within two minutes, Victor brought the speeding Range Rover to a screeching halt on the campus of University College with Perry just on his tail. Emily, Victor and Derek exited the vehicle and joined Hotch, Rossi, and Perry, who were convening around the hood of Perry's Range Rover. Out of the corner of her eye, Emily spotted two uniformed police officers running to meet up with them. She bet they were just two of dozens more who would arrive on the scene at any moment. Perry was likely to have summoned every available cop in the area to help scour the campus.

"Right, let's get started," Perry said hurriedly, raising his voice a bit to make himself heard in the rain. "I want us to split up and look for Meyers. A photograph of him will be forwarded to your phones momentarily. Stop as many people as you can and ask if anyone recognizes him. If you encounter any brunette women, advise them to go inside to a well-trafficked building and remain there."

"Just to be safe, we go in pairs," he continued. "I want all of our unarmed guests with an armed officer. Soon, we'll have enough officers here to blanket this place. For now, I want us to focus on isolated areas of campus where he might be hiding."

They quickly split into groups. The two officers were sent to patrol a small park at the southeast corner of campus. Victor and Rossi went to investigate a lightly-travelled area on the east side. Hotch and Perry stayed behind to brief officers as they arrived on the scene. Emily and Derek made for the north end of the campus to search near a cluster of lecture halls and office buildings divided by narrow, poorly-lit alleyways. If nobody encountered Meyers, they were to rendezvous at six-thirty to formulate a new plan.

"So, partners again," Derek observed as the pair made their way north.

"Looks like it," Emily agreed. "Think you can still keep up with me?"

"Emily Prentiss, I am not even going to dignify that with a response," Derek teased.

"So," he continued seriously. "You really think this is all going to end tonight?"

"One way or the other," she affirmed. "Don't you?"

"Yeah, probably," he agreed. "What are you going to do when it's all finally over?"

"Well, it's Sunday, so I'm probably going to go home and go to bed because I have to work tomorrow. And I imagine I'll help make arrangements to get you guys home," she answered. She knew that wasn't the sort of answer that Morgan was after, but she was getting tired of having her personal life pried into so much over the past few days. If Morgan was going to insist on continuing, she was at least going to make him work for it.

To her mild annoyance, if not to her surprise, he persisted.

"Come on, Prentiss," he scoffed. "I know you know that's not what I'm talking about. You and Victor are talking to each other like two cops forced to work together. If I didn't know you I wouldn't think you were a married couple at all. Are you sure you're going to be alright?"

"Do we really have to talk about this right now?" Emily protested. "We'll work it out when this is over. At the end of the day, it was a disagreement over a case assessment that we blew out of proportion."

"That's the thing, Prentiss," Derek countered. "Disagreements over case assessments don't get blown this far out of proportion. This is about more than that. It's about trust. You don't think he trusts you. Are you even sure you really trust him?"

Emily's patience with Morgan was quickly wearing to a nub. He was profiling her and giving her yet another one of his lectures about trust. Although she considered Morgan practically family, these were two things about him she did not miss. Largely because she loathed the invasion of her privacy, but also in part because she knew Derek would bristle if the tables were turned. He wouldn't bite his tongue if she tried to profile him or confronted him about his own untrusting nature. Because she didn't want to undo damage repair she and Morgan had already done that day, she refrained from lashing out, but it was taxing every last nerve.

Thankfully, she was spared from further conversation by the simultaneous buzzing of their phones. Perry had forwarded the photograph of Paul Meyers. It looked to be either a visa or passport photograph. Both Emily and Derek immediately recognized the man who had sparred with Hotch at the Flagstaff police station nine years prior. His dark hair was now a bit thinner and lightly salted with flecks of gray, but otherwise he looked almost the same.

"Yeah, I definitely remember that guy," Derek sighed.

"Let's see if anybody recognizes him," Emily remarked curtly. Derek read the intensity in her gaze and the finality in her voice. He understood that their prior conversation was over. She'd put up one of her trademark walls and wasn't going to talk about anything but the case.

"Alright," Derek relented.

For over an hour, Derek and Emily poked around the buildings and alleyways hoping to spot Meyers but found nothing. They faired little better with the students and other pedestrians who passed by. Most of them at least paid attention to the photograph and took time to answer Derek and Emily's questions, but almost none recognized Meyers. Emily briefly thought they might have gotten lucky with one student.

"Yeah, I've seen that bloke," a skinny man with a mop of blonde curly hair answered. He couldn't have been a day older than 20 at the oldest.

"Where'd you see him?" Emily asked excitedly.

"I didn't see him today," the young man clarified. "It was a few days ago, but it was around here, behind the maths and economics faculty offices. I never saw him before and haven't since. I just thought he seemed a bit odd, slinking around out there."

"Okay, thank you," Emily answered, slightly crestfallen. "If you see him again, please contact the Metropolitan Police as soon as possible."

"Sure," he replied, looking slightly confused and clearly desperate to get out of the rain. The young student lacked an umbrella and was quickly becoming soaked to the bone. "Can I go?"

"Yes, of course," Emily answered. "Thank you again."

"Thanks man," Derek added his own appreciation as the student hurried off to find somewhere dry.

No other passersby recognized Meyers from the photograph. Emily and Derek were slightly relieved to see that most of the brunette women they spotted were walking in groups. Nonetheless, they warned the women to go inside as soon as possible and remain there until the police issued an all-clear.

After she and Derek finished circling the area for the third time, Emily stole a glance at her watch.

"It's six o'clock," she told Derek. "We're supposed to rendezvous with everyone else at the original meeting place in half an hour."

"Hopefully the others got some better tips," Derek sighed dejectedly.

Emily and Derek made their way back to the place where Victor and Perry parked their vehicles, taking a small measure of relief in the fact that the pounding rain had at last slowed a bit to a drizzle. The reinforcements Perry promised had shown up. Dozens of officers, some uniformed and others in plainclothes, were gathered into groups of four or five each. The former colleagues could read the tense body language and frustrated expressions. The other cops hadn't fared any better than they had. A quick conference with Hotch and Rossi confirmed their suspicions.

"Nothing, I take it?" Emily commented.

"Nope," Rossi affirmed in his direct manner.

"Metro PD has canvassed as thoroughly as possible without causing a panic," Hotch explained. "A few witnesses thought they might have seen Meyers at some point during the last week, but nobody's seen him today."

"I take it you didn't fair any better?" Rossi observed.

"No," Derek answered. "One student Emily talked to recognized the photo, but it's been a few days since he's seen Meyers."

"The one positive is that we've been able to reach out to several women and get them inside," Perry said, as he and Victor joined the conversation. "The question is what do we do now that we haven't found him."

"Well, while it's good that the women are safe the fact that they're inside might unfortunately make more it difficult to catch him," Hotch noted.

"Why's that?" Victor pressed.

"Killing has become a compulsion, he can't resist it," Rossi explained. "He's not going to go home until he kills another brunette woman. He prefers to kill younger women on a college campus because that's what was ingrained in his mind from the Flagstaff case, but if he can't find a victim on this campus he'll leave and find one elsewhere."

"Killing a brown-haired woman is definitely what's most important to him," Hotch added. "His last kill proved that. His last victim Carrie Phillips was 38 years old, way out of his age range, but she was the closest he could find. If we dry up his victim pool here, he will look elsewhere, which means the women in the surrounding areas will be in danger. He won't care if they're on campus or off, or how old they are, at this point he just wants his kill."

"We need to keep him on this campus," Perry concluded. "I'll set up a general perimeter, we move in and flush him out."

"John, the man's unstable," Victor argued. "If we haven't tipped him off already with our presence, a major operation like that definitely will. What if he panics and kills as many people as he can get to before we close in?"

"Vic, we don't have any other options!" Perry countered fiercely.

But that wasn't quite true, Emily thought. Hotch's last comment had sparked an idea.

"Unless," Emily interjected, "we don't _completely_ dry up his victim pool. Instead, we get him to chase the right victim."

"Emily, what the hell are you talking about?" Victor asked, confused, looking at her as if she was speaking gibberish.

But Hotch, Rossi, and Morgan understood immediately. Hotch and Rossi stared at her intensely but said nothing. Morgan, on the other hand, was not about to remain silent.

"Nuh-uh, Emily, no way," Derek protested. "You're not doing that."

"Morgan, there's nothing you can do to stop me" Emily reminded him.

"Emily, what is going on?" Victor pressed again. Though the sun was nearly set, Emily could read his frustrated and confused expression in the headlights of the Range Rover. She started to explain, but Morgan preempted her.

"If we're right that a victim's age doesn't really matter to Meyers anymore, Emily fits squarely into his victim type – white, brunette women" Morgan explained. He was talking to Victor, but he stared darkly at Emily as he spoke. "She wants to draw him out by setting herself up as bait."

Victor looked to Emily for an answer. She locked eyes with him and bit her bottom lip, but said nothing. He knew from her lack of protest that what Derek said was true.

"Emily, no," he replied firmly, shaking his head rapidly to accentuate the point. "No that's crazy."

"Victor, just hear me out," Emily started, but Morgan interrupted once again.

"Prentiss, what's there to explain?" he demanded. "It's too risky. If Meyers gets the jump on you at all with that taser, you won't be able to fight back to defend yourself, much less take him down. And how exactly do you plan on finding him anyway? He could be anywhere."

"I might not find him," Emily admitted. "But if there's a chance we can keep him on this campus then it's worth a shot. Three of the four bodies were found in narrow alleyways behind buildings. I'll start in those types of areas."

"As far as taking Meyers getting the jump on me, I assume he will, but _I'm_ not going to be the one to take him down," Emily continued, shifting her gaze to Victor. "He is."

"Me?" Victor asked, not following her. "How?"

"You were doing covert intelligence gathering information for INTERPOL when I met you," she reminded him. "I know you can tail people without being seen. So, tail me. Stay far enough back that it looks like I'm walking alone, but close enough that you can see me. If Meyers jumps me, you make your move. He's tased all of his victims on or near the torso. My vest should dilute the impact enough for me to put up a struggle and buy you a few extra seconds to get there."

"You are out of your mind," Emily heard Derek remark.

"Morgan, half an hour ago you asked me if I trusted him," she reminded Derek icily. "Here's your answer."

Emily turned her focus back to Victor. Reading his body language, she could tell he was still deeply opposed to the idea, but not irrevocably so. She could see that he was biting his tongue inside of his mouth, a habit she'd noticed he had when he was making stressful decisions. Morgan apparently sensed the hesitation as well.

"One wrong move and that son of a bitch will kill her, you do realize that?" Derek said to Victor. "This is your wife we're talking about."

Emily had had just about enough of Morgan's constant interruptions.

"Excuse us for a minute," she said to Hotch and Rossi while nodding at Victor and Perry to indicate that they should follow her.

Derek was clearly intent on pursuing her when Rossi shot out a hand to stop him.

"Morgan, let her go," he warned.

"Rossi, how can you just sit there and let her put herself in that kind of danger? Hotch," Derek said, turning to his unit chief, "surely there's something you can do. Say something to her."

"Morgan, I can't tell her what to do, Hotch reminded him. "And it's not as if this is the first time one of us has baited an unsub. We intentionally plastered my face all over the news to draw out that cop-killer in Phoenix in '08. We sent Prentiss herself in as bait to stop James Thomas from shooting up that bar in Akron. As much as I don't like it, it's sometimes the best option."

Derek sighed deeply. Hotch was right, but that didn't mean Morgan liked it.

"I guess I'd feel a little bit better about it if we had some more control," he admitted. "I hate being on the sidelines like this."

"You're not alone there," Rossi agreed.

…

Meanwhile, as soon as she was sure they were out of earshot, Emily resumed her conversation with Victor.

"So," she asked. "What do you say?"

Victor shook is head slowly.

"I can't," he said in a voice barely above a whisper. "I can't take that chance Emily. I can't risk losing you right in front of me."

"You won't," she assured him.

"What if we send in more backup?" Perry asked. "Have several officers stay close to you instead of just Victor?"

"That's not going to work in this environment," Emily pointed out. "We're talking about small, narrow areas. One person can follow me without showing himself. A whole group won't be able to maneuver in these spaces without tipping themselves off."

"I'm not comfortable doing this without backup," Perry said. "If he somehow gives Victor the slip and we don't have any backup, we lose him and he's running around loose in London."

"Then send a couple of officers in behind Victor," Emily said. "He tails me, you tail him. That way, they're not close enough to me to tip us off, but they'll be within range to pursue if he gets away."

"Emily, no," Victor re-inserted himself into the discussion. "You're not doing this."

"Victor, if this works we can catch Meyers right now before he hurts somebody else. Don't you want this to be over?" she asked, locking eyes with him. "Don't you want to end it?"

"Of course I do," he replied. "But not like this."

"You said you don't want to risk me getting hurt," Emily argued. "But what about the other women out there? The ones who don't have police backup? Who aren't prepared? What about the risk to them? Do you want to have to look another father and mother in the eye and tell them that you're sorry about their daughter? That you did everything you could?"

Victor sighed, taking a step back and running his hand over his head. Emily sensed an opening.

"Nothing is going to happen to me," she assured him. "Because you won't let it. I trust you. With my life. Now you need to trust me. Trust me when I tell you that this will work."

He stared at her intently before suddenly looking away and rubbing his hand over his face.

"Alright," he said, slowly, painfully. It was as if the words were being forced from him involuntarily. "Alright, let's do it."

_I hope you enjoyed Chapter 10. Sorry to leave off on that bit of a cliff hanger, but, like I said, the chapter was getting way too long and I had to find an ending point somehow. Chapter 11 will be up relatively quickly and the story will wrap-up soon. As always, comments/suggestions/reviews are hugely appreciated. Thanks again for reading!_


	11. Bait

_As promised, here is Chapter 11. This is the second to last chapter and wraps up the bulk of the story. Thanks so much for reading. I am again deeply grateful for the wonderful response. I hope you enjoy!_

With Victor at last reluctantly on board, Emily, Victor, and Perry returned to the rendezvous point to chart out a course for Emily to walk around the campus. Hotch, Rossi, and Morgan were still there when they returned. Hotch and Rossi must have said something to calm Morgan down. Emily feared that as soon as Morgan found out they were going through with the plan, he would lash out. He did brood a bit, firmly setting his jaw and not speaking to anybody, and Emily swore she caught him shooting a couple of death glares at Victor when he thought nobody was looking. Yet he didn't argue. He remained silent while Hotch and Rossi added a helpful comment or two, aiding Emily, Victor, and Perry in fine-tuning their plan.

By nearly eight o'clock, with the sun now set and the sky dotted by orange and white balls of city lights, Emily was ready to go. All of the bodies had been found near the outskirts of campus. Three behind buildings on the north or west sides of campus and one in the park to the southeast. Emily would start her route to the north where she and Derek had searched earlier and would cover the isolated areas around the perimeter of campus before working her way inward. Victor would track her at a moderate distance. Perry and an additional officer would follow behind Victor to provide any needed support. The plainclothes officers on sight established a loose perimeter around the campus to watch in case Meyers either didn't see or didn't take the bait and attempted to leave. Hotch, Rossi, and Morgan would join them.

Barely a word was spoken that didn't pertain directly to the plan. Heavy tension permeated the air as the officers and agents split up to take their respective positions. Just before departing to help the officers at the perimeter of campus, Rossi pulled Emily aside.

"I know you don't need any lectures from an old fart like me," Rossi started. He was smiling weakly, failing to hide the worry in his eyes. "But take care of yourself kiddo. I know your instinct is to fight, but if you go down, just worry about defending yourself. Buy Victor enough time to get to you. Remember, Meyers always goes for the heart. Don't give him a clean shot at it."

"You mean a clean stab?" she quipped. With the possible exception of Hotch, any other member of the BAU team would have raked her over the coals for such a joke at such a time, but Rossi actually chuckled.

"Seriously, Rossi," she continued. "Don't worry about me. I'll be alright."

"I know you will. But I always worry," he answered, setting a gentle hand on her shoulder. "See you in a little bit."

…

Less than ten minutes later, Emily, Victor, Perry, and an officer named Rhodes proceeded towards the northern end of the campus. A few packs of straggling students passed by here or there, but otherwise the area was fairly quiet. Perry and Rhodes splintered off to take up position from which to start trailing Victor. After several more paces, it was time for Emily and Victor to split up as well.

"You ready?" Emily sighed tensely.

"No," he said, lifting his hand and placing it gently on her cheek. She sensed a slight trembling in him. Suddenly, he leaned in and locked his lips with hers. For a second, she thought he was never going to pull away and she didn't think she wanted him to.

"Now I'm ready," he said at last. But that wasn't quite true. She saw the fear in his eyes. A fear mixed with a little bit of guilt. And he was still caressing her face with his hand. She placed her own hand reassuringly on top of his.

"It's going to be alright," she promised. "I love you."

"Not as much as I love you," he quipped, smiling with great effort.

"Let's get this guy and go home," she said.

With heavy hesitation, they finally parted, and Emily started down the path she'd charted. She banished the goodbye to the corner of her mind where she locked away the things she couldn't think about while working. The things that could be a deadly distraction if she let them.

Soon, Emily had another distraction to try and lock away. She was nearly numb with cold. She'd had to forego an umbrella so Meyers could see what she looked like. While the rain was still coming down lightly, the temperature was only just above freezing. The effectiveness of her warm, sturdy jacket could only do so much when her head and face were wet and frigid. At least her feet were dry, Emily thought. Things would have been so much worse if she had been sloshing through some of the gathering puddles in anything less than boots.

Her discomfort only intensified the longer she wandered. She'd covered all the areas of the north end of campus without incident and was proceeding to a dark, isolated alley between two brick maintenance buildings on the western end of the campus. She was tempted to pick up her pace, if for no other reason than to keep her body warmer, but she didn't want to make it harder for Victor follow her. She assumed he was still behind her, but never looked back so as not to give away his presence. Although she wasn't exactly hoping for an encounter, she somewhat hoped that if Meyers was going to show himself at all, he would do it soon and get this all over with. At this point, it was all she could do to keep her teeth from chattering violently.

The hope that this ordeal might soon be over with had barely crossed her mind when she felt herself violently thrown against the wall of an adjoining building. Emily only got a glance at her attacker's face through the thing stream of light emanating from a small fixture above the back door of one of the buildings. A glance was all she needed. Paul Meyers had been loitering behind a rusted green dumpster.

Suddenly, Emily's entire body was seized with a jolting, searing pain. She felt her legs give out from under her, useless as jelly. She collapsed into a puddle, face colliding painfully with the pavement. If the Kevlar had diluted the impact of the taser at all, Emily thought it couldn't have been by much. She tried to will herself to move but found that she was unable. Her muscles seemed completely locked.

The collision of her head with the ground rendered her vision hazy, but out of the corner of her eye, Emily thought she caught a glint of silver. Despite the near nauseating pain in her forehead and cheek, she was thankful she had fallen face first. Her chest wasn't exposed. Meyers would have to flip her over before trying to plunge the knife into her heart. This would buy her a few seconds.

But the few seconds dissipated quickly. Almost instantaneously, she felt a rough hand on her shoulder, trying to turn her. She tried yelling out—anything to distract Meyers for another second or two—but all she managed was a rough grunt. Where the hell was Victor?

The sudden thud of a body slamming into the steel dumpster to her left answered her question.

"Metro Police," she heard Victor yell. "Drop the knife."

"Get off me," Meyers growled. "You're hurting me."

"Then drop the damn knife," Victor repeated.

Emily was still a bit dazed, but she realized she was regaining normal sensation in and control of her limbs. She only partially appreciated the return of sensation, as she was now absolutely soaked and even colder than before. Slowly, she forced herself into a sitting position up against the outer wall of the building opposite the dumpster. The metallic taste of blood was on the tip of her tongue. Emily couldn't tell if it was coming from her nose, her lip, or both.

Even though the alleyway poorly-lit, she could see that Victor had Meyers pinned up against the dumpster with one hand and was pointing his Glock with the other. Meyers still had a knife clutched tightly in his gloved right hand. He saw Emily re-position herself against the wall and tried to free himself, but Victor easily shoved him back up against the dumpster.

"Don't even think about it," Victor growled. "You make one more move towards her and I will put a bullet through your head."

"Victor, don't," Emily warned. Her breath was a bit labored and her voice strained, but she was now strong enough to be heard. "He's sick."

"Emily, if he doesn't drop the knife he's not giving me much of a choice," Victor pointed out, without turning around to look at her.

"Paul, listen to me," Emily said, addressing Meyers. "You probably don't remember me, but my name is Emily Prentiss. I was part of the FBI team that investigated the campus killings in Flagstaff when you represented Nathan Tubbs."

Meyers didn't respond, but Emily noticed that he cocked his head towards her a bit, as if to hear her better. She knew she had his attention.

"Paul, you know you're sick," she continued, struggling to keep her voice steady as possible despite her shivering body. "What you don't know is that your illness has combined with your memory of that case to turn yourself into something you're not. I know you're not a killer. I also know you have a wife who you love very much and who is down the street worried sick about you. Is this how you want things to end, Paul? Do you want to leave Margaret without saying goodbye?"

"No," Meyers answered her at last. Emily heard the tremors in his voice. "No, I want to see her."

"Then drop the knife," Victor commanded again, this time with a much more even tone.

The sound of metal clattering on pavement signaled Meyers' compliance with the request. Victor quickly kicked the knife down the alley and well out of reach.

"Slowly put your hands on your head," he ordered, holstering his gun and pulling out his cuffs as Meyers complied.

The sounds of splashing and footsteps coming down the alley trumpeted the late arrival of Perry and Rhodes, who kept their weapons drawn and fixed on Meyers.

"Emily, are you okay?" Perry asked, taking a quick glance at her slumped figure before returning his focus to Meyers.

"Peachy" she grunted.

"Rhoades, radio this in and call a medic. You got him, Vic?"

"Yeah," Victor confirmed, quickly securing Meyers' wrists behind his back and patting down his grey overcoat to check for any additional weapons. "Paul Meyers, you're under arrest for the murders of Sarah Wellesley, Rachel Watson, Emma Chesser, and Carla Phillips."

"I want to see my wife," Meyers insisted.

"We'll call her and you'll get to see her later," Victor replied roughly. "Right now you're going to the station."

"Vic, I'll take him, go to Emily," Perry insisted.

Victor didn't wait to be told twice. Within a few seconds he'd handed Meyers off to Perry and was kneeling beside Emily.

"Em, Emily," he said hurriedly. Emily's field of vision was still too blurred to quite make out his expression, but his voice betrayed his worry. "Jesus, you're freezing."

Quickly, he threw off his heavy jacket and slung it over her shoulders.

"You sure you're alright? Are you hurt anywhere?"

"Honestly, that taser thing made my whole body hurt, but I feel better now," she replied. "Face hurts though, and I'm going to have one bitch of a headache. Is my nose bleeding?"

"Let me see. Nope, you just split your upper lip," he returned the verdict and clicked off his light. She sensed the relief in his voice. No nosebleed meant a reduced chance of internal head injury. "You've got a nasty bruise on your face though. Medics should be here, let's go get you checked out."

"No. Seriously, I'm fine. I just want to go home," she protested. For the most part, she really did feel okay, given the circumstances. Her head still hurt, but her blurred vision was clearing and the rest of her body felt nearly back to normal. What she wanted more than anything was a hot tea and a change into dry clothes, but Victor wasn't going to let her off so easily.

"Emily, no," he said flatly. "You probably have a concussion. And those tasers can cause heart irregularities that people don't notice at first. I doubt your odds are improved by the fact that you were soaking wet when it happened. You're getting checked out."

"Victor, I'm fi…" she tried again to protest, but he cut her off.

"Look, because I'm a nice guy I'm going to give you a choice. Either you get up and walk over with me and get checked out, or I will physically pick you up and carry you over there to get checked out and then I'll call your mother."

"You wouldn't," she looked at him darkly.

"You're the one who said I'm a man of my word," he reminded her, recalling her taunt following their bet a few nights prior. A night that now seemed ages ago.

"Alright, you win," she relented. "Let's get this over with."

Cautiously, she rose to her feet. Grabbing her arm and shoulder, Victor helped her up but it turned out she didn't need it. Other than a brief wave of dizziness upon first arising, she was surprisingly steady. Still, he kept a firm grip on her arm as the couple made their way down to the end of the alleyway where an ambulance and a team of medics waited. Apparently Victor had worked with at least some of them before. He seemed to be on familiar terms with the lead medic. A blonde man in his forties named Graham.

Victor and Graham helped Emily mount the large step up the back of the ambulance. She removed her soaking jacket and sat herself on the edge of the gurney, allowed Graham to stick on a finger clip to check her vital signs, and prepared reluctantly to endure the annoyingly familiar battery of concussion tests. She was at least grateful for the heat in the ambulance and the thermal blanket Graham offered, which she wrapped tightly around herself.

"Has anybody called the victims' families yet to tell them it's over?" Emily asked Victor, who hunched his six foot frame onto a seat across from her in the ambulance.

"Perry can do that," Victor dismissed, clearly intent on staying with Emily.

"I think you should do it," she said. "This is going to take awhile anyway. I'll be alright. You deserve to make those calls."

"Are you sure?" he hesitated.

"Go," she insisted gently.

"Okay. I'll be right back," he said, leaning in to plant a light kiss on her cheek. "Graham, you better take damn good care of my wife."

"Only the best," Graham assured him.

"Emily, behave for him. Will you?"

"Yes. Just go," she pressed, rolling her eyes.

"Alright. Alright. Going. I'll be right back."

True to her word and despite her general irritability when it came to medical tests, Emily dutifully answered the boring litany of questions Graham put to her.

"What's your full name?"

"Emily Elizabeth Prentiss."

"Date of birth?"

"October 12, 1970."

"Today's date?"

"November 13, 2016."

"Do you know where you are?"

"University College, London."

After asking another dozen or so questions, Graham checked Emily's pupils with a flashlight and handed her an icepack for her throbbing head.

"Alright, passed with flying colors," he concluded. "Body temperature is a little low, but rising. I'd prefer it if you'd stay overnight for observation…"

"Not happening," she interrupted.

"Yeah, I figured," Graham smiled. "At least stay here and keep that blanket on until Vic comes back alright?"

"I think I can do that," Emily answered.

"Damn right you can," she heard Derek say. She glanced up at the back of the ambulance where Morgan, Hotch, and Rossi stood. Morgan looked downright relieved. Rossi was smiling at her, and Emily thought she might have detected the slightest of smiles on Hotch as well.

"Nicely done," Rossi remarked approvingly.

"I'm just glad it worked," Emily commented. "What's next for you guys?"

"We plan on staying for the next two days," Hotch answered. "I still want a few answers about Nathan Tubbs, and Scotland Yard has agreed to let us question Meyers tomorrow to see if he knows anything."

"Have they taken him down to the station yet?" Emily asked.

"Yeah, Perry got him out of here just before the media circus arrived," Morgan answered. "They're going to process and question him then let him see his wife."

"Speaking of," Rossi said, glancing over his shoulder, "I think there's someone here to see you Emily."

"Mrs. Meyers," Emily observed, as Margaret Meyers appeared from behind Rossi, dressed in a khaki rain jacket and clutching a navy blue umbrella.

"Agent Prentiss, Superintendent Polizzi said I could find you here," she said a bit hesitantly. "Did Paul hurt you?"

"I just fell during the arrest," Emily said quickly. She thought Mrs. Meyers could be spared the detail that Paul had been about three seconds away from sinking an eight-inch blade into Emily's heart. "What can I do for you?"

"I just wanted to say thank you. Mr. Polizzi said you helped talk Paul down. While he didn't say it directly, I get the impression that if you hadn't, the police would've had to ki…" her voice trailed off as she took deep, gasping breaths.

"Mrs. Meyers, I just helped," Emily assured her. "Paul dropped that knife on his own."

Mrs. Meyers nodded rapidly, but Emily could tell she didn't quite believe her.

"Well, whatever the case, thank you," she insisted. "I needed Paul to be alive. I know most people won't sympathize or understand, but…"

"You don't have to explain yourself to me," Emily assured her.

"You might be able to see Paul soon," Rossi interjected suddenly. "Why don't you let Agents Hotchner and Morgan and I escort you over to the station?"

But Morgan wasn't ready to leave Emily.

"Rossi, let me stay with Prentiss," he insisted. "Surely you don't need all three of us."

But Rossi simply cleared his throat and nodded his head in the direction behind Morgan. Victor was headed back towards the ambulance.

"Oh, right," Morgan observed. "See you tomorrow, Prentiss?"

"Wouldn't miss it," she agreed.

"Just give us a call in the morning," Hotch said. "Goodnight, Prentiss."

"G'night Hotch."

Emily watched her three friends walk off with Mrs. Meyers in tow. Rossi with a comforting hand on the woman's back. They stopped briefly as the crossed paths with Victor, exchanging a few words Emily couldn't quite make out before shaking hands and proceeding on their way.

"Did you get ahold of the families?" Emily asked as Victor approached.

"Yeah," he said. "Obviously nothing's going to bring their girls back, but it seemed some of them have some closure now."

"That's all you can do," Emily observed.

"True," he agreed, climbing back into the ambulance to sit beside her. "So, Graham. What's the diagnosis?"

"You need to warm that girl up, but otherwise she checks out," Graham answered. "Ideally we'd keep her overnight just to be sure, but she's good to go."

"Emily," Victor pleaded. "Why don't you stay, just to be safe…"

"No," she said matter-of-factly.

"Emily…"

"No," she repeated. "If it makes you feel better, I will take the day off and get re-checked tomorrow, but I'm not staying."

"Alright," he relented. "If you promise me."

"I do," she assured him. "I just want to sleep in my own bed tonight."

"That's funny," he grinned a bit mischievously. "I was thinking the same thing."

"Oh yeah?" she said, taking ahold of his hand.

"Yeah. But first I think I'm going to whip up a hot drink and some soup for my wife. I think I owe her some dinner," he teased. "You see, I've been gone the last few nights and I've missed her a lot."

"She's missed you too."

"So," he squeezed her hand a bit more tightly. "You ready to go home, Mrs. Polizzi?"

Emily couldn't resist cracking a smile at his reference to the nicknames they hadn't used for one another since a few months after they married.

"I think I am, Mr. Prentiss."

_So, that wraps up our story for the most part. I plan on adding an epilogue to resolve a couple remaining threads in the story sometime this week. I hope you enjoyed. Feel free to leave comments/suggestions/reviews. They're always appreciated. Thanks again!_


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